Kingdom Come
by thedragontheprincessthewriter
Summary: QW14! Very, very AU. Quinn marries Finn, who becomes an NFL player, and doesn't meet Santana until she moves into town with her son and his father. UPDATES SUNDAYS.
1. Chapter 1

"Quinn, you're pressing the wrong pedal."

"No, I'm not, Finn, I'm doing exactly what you told me."

The truck swerves across the driveway, past their house, towards a tree. Quinn can't seem to stop it.

"It's the left pedal."

"That's what I'm doing!"

Finn calmly pries her terrified fingers from the wheel and steers it in the other direction, then brings one hand down to her left thigh. "Left, Quinn. Left."

She looks down at his hand and giggles, because he's right. He turns off the ignition, his booming laugh filling the car and her heart for the thousandth time since they got married.

"You wanna call it a day?"

Quinn nods. "I don't wanna crash your SUV."

Finn kisses the top of her head. "_Our_ SUV. And I don't care if you do. As long as you're OK."

Mr. and Mrs. Hudson walk hand in hand into the three story house they bought just five years ago. It still smells like new.

* * *

Quinn's busy cooking up a feast when her mother calls.

"Hudson residence."

"Quinn?"

"Yeah."

"Are you watching the game?"

She glances at the clock. She completely forgot.

"Uh, yeah." She races to the living room and digs under the plush cushions of their leather couch. Under the last one, amidst some stale chips, she finds the remote. She points it at the TV. Dora the Explorer, loud as can be. Wincing, she flips through the channels until she catches a glimpse of her husband in his uniform. 29. The day they went on their first date. She smiles involuntarily, until she hears her Judy's voice, icy on the phone.

"Today's trade deadline. I'm hoping you haven't forgotten _that_."

"No, mamma, I haven't."

What she really wants to say is "If you knew anything about football, you would know no one important gets traded on trade deadline." Or, "Finn's not gonna get traded, he's too good." Or maybe, "It's none of your business."

At exactly five o'clock, the doorbell rings. She opens the door gallantly and the girls come in, carrying bottles of wine and pots with flowers. They fawn over the remodeled dining room like they haven't seen hundreds identical and pretend to enjoy the food they only eat in morsels as they watch the last minutes of the game. No one says anything about the deadline, even though it's on all their minds. Instead, they talk about what they will wear to the charity gala and tear apart the new teacher at St. Paul's.

"Her skirts are so short."

"I know, completely inappropriate."

Quinn, in particular, doesn't take kindly to newcomers. "I'm telling you girls, we need to push for those uniforms at the next PTA meeting."

Bree laughs. "God, Quinn, you're ruthless."

"I'm sorry, I can't have my children around _that_."

After the party, she waits up until twelve for a call from Finn, but it never comes. She climbs onto their huge bed and snuggles into it contentedly. He's safe.

* * *

The next day, she picks up her children at her mother's, painfully aware her vacation's over. Willow slides into the backseat and slams the door in her face. She goes around and straps Daisy into her car seat, then heads to the passenger seat only to find out Elliott's already taken it. She maneuvers herself into the empty spot between Willow and Daisy, which, being tiny, doesn't present a problem. Her parents' chauffeur, Puck, glances at them through the rear-view mirror. He's her age, and she's known him for so long he could be a friend, and yet he is but a stranger. "Everything all right back there?"

She nods, feeling like a little girl, seated between her daughters. "Perfect."

Puck nods and gets on the road. On her right, Willow pretends to be asleep.

* * *

She tosses and turns on nights when Finn's not home. Even though they have an alarm system and every burglar protection known to mankind, she's afraid without him. During the day, too, afraid of not being able to be mother and father, or even just mother, without her husband. Sometimes, she douses herself in sleeping drops, others, she's too petrified to do even that. Tonight, she lays in bed staring at the ceiling, when she hears soft, carpeted footsteps outside her door.

"Mommy?"

She sighs. "Come in, Elliott."

He's seven, but looks about four in the powder blue footed pajamas he insists on wearing even though they're too small. He climbs into bed with her. She buries her nose in his hair and inhales her husband's shampoo.

"When is daddy coming home?"

"In, like, two days."

"That's a long time."

"Not really. Did you have a nice time at grandma's?"

"Yeah. She let me sleep with Daisy."

Oh, so that's what this is about. "Elliott, Daddy talked to you about this. There's nothing to be afraid of."

"But he's not here."

Ever since he was a toddler, it had been difficult to get Elliott to sleep in his own room, unlike Willow, who couldn't wait to get away from her, or Daisy, who was complacent even as a newborn.

It had hurt Quinn to hear her son cry himself to sleep, but Finn had insisted. Elliott had gotten used to it, even though he had nightmares regularly, especially when his father wasn't home.

"Did Willow see you come in here?"

"No."

"Are you sure? Because if she did, she's gonna tell Daddy and he's gonna be upset with both of us."

"She didn't, I swear."

Quinn nods. "OK. You can stay. But just for tonight."

He falls asleep right away, a pleasant little smile on his face that's much nicer to stare at than the ceiling.

* * *

She spends the morning before Finn comes home at the country club, talking numbers with the girls. They're having brunch out in the garden, their children playing somewhere, though she can spot Elliott alone under a tree. Judy is watching him, too.

"You need to do something about that child."

"I don't know what else I can do, mamma."

"He should be playing with the other children."

"I can't force him to. Finn says to just leave him alone. He says he was like that when he was a kid."

"Was he?"

Quinn shrugs. Although it seems impossible to believe she hasn't known Finn all her life, they met in high school. By then, he was already Finn. It's hard to imagine he was once like her son.

On the other side of the table, they can hear Kitty's voice rising above the rest. "At least part of the money from the gala has to go to the pro-life campaign, you wouldn't believe how much money those people on the other side are raising-"

Quinn cuts in solemnly."I think all of the money should go to the campaign." She glances at Elliott, who is now lying on his back, looking up at the sky. "I don't get it. How can they just get rid of a baby like that?"

"Because they're cold, heartless people, Quinn." It's nothing she hasn't heard before.

Her mother pats her leg soothingly. "I think Quinn's right. We need to make the campaign a priority this year."

The women around the table, old and young, nod emphatically and Quinn smiles. At least she's doing something right.

* * *

By the time Finn gets home, she's already asleep. She doesn't hear him come in the room or slip into bed, but in the morning, she finds herself trapped under a heavy arm. She slides it down her body carefully and gets up without waking him. She pulls on a robe and goes to knock on Willow's door.

"Willow. Get up."

"What do you want?"

"I have your dress for church."

Even though Willow is still in her Hello Kitty pajamas and there is black makeup smeared all over her face, Quinn feels like she is looking at herself.

It seems Willow knows it too, because she has tried everything to look as different from her mother as possible. Her hair is dyed hot pink and cut short, and causes Quinn to remember, with a pang, the little girl with the long, blond curls who was her spitting image just a few years ago. They're about the same height now, and Quinn's afraid of her daughter, who is only four years younger that she was when she had her.

She got her a pale yellow dress with a high neckline. It will clash horribly with her hair, but what won't? Willow stares at it the way one would at a dead animal, and Quinn shrugs. "I told you to come with me."

Willow sets Finn's blue eyes on her with tremendous coolness. "You really hate me, don't you?"

Quinn shuts her eyes for a second and then opens them again, her fake eyelashes flickering like feathers on a bird. "Willow, please. I'm begging you."

They hear Finn's voice coming from the other end of the hall. "Quinn? Where are you?"

Willow snatches the dress from her and retreats into her room. Quinn hurries back and meets Finn in the kitchen. He picks her up and she buries her face in the crook of his neck.

"I'm so glad you're back."

He puts her down and looks at her with an odd little smile. "Willow giving you trouble?"

Quinn shakes her head and grabs his hand. "We have to get ready for church." He laces their fingers together and follows meekly.

* * *

Finn sets Daisy on the kitchen counter as he laces up the ballet slippers she wears everywhere to perfection, then pours two cups of hot chocolate and hands one to Elliott, who takes it with a smile. Finn brings the other to his lips just as Quinn comes in the room, wearing heels and his favorite tight, little white dress. He whistles. "Wow."

He puts the cup down and spins her around, and then they hear Willow's voice, sharp like Judy's. "No way."

Even Finn has to admit she looks ridiculous in that pink dress.

"So that's what you're wearing, and I have to wear this?"

Quinn sighs.

"Cause I have a dress just like that one that I can wear."

Quinn's eyebrows fly up in alarm. "You wouldn't!"

"Oh, so you can go to church looking like a hooker, but I can't?"

Finn speaks up in warning. "Willow."

Quinn turns on her daughter. "I am a married woman, Willow. I can wear whatever I please. You, on the other hand, are not. When you have a husband-"

Finn lays a hand on Quinn's shoulder. "It's OK. Willow, go change into some jeans on something."

Willow throws her dad a grateful glance and storms off. Quinn tilts her head back to look at her husband, whose head is practically level with the chandelier in their kitchen.

"Finn, the whole reason I got her a dress was so she wouldn't wear jeans to church."

Finn wraps his arms around her. "I know. And I'm sure y'all can try again next week."

Quinn sighs resignedly and burrows into her husband's arms.

* * *

It is a few minutes until the end of service, and everyone is doing exactly the same thing they were doing all service long. Willow is texting, Quinn is wishing she could slap the phone out of her hands, Elliott is leaning against Finn's shoulder, fast asleep, and Daisy is on his lap, placidly listening to the sermon with a serene expression on her face that matches father's exactly.

On their way out, several people stop to greet Finn, to pat him on the back and say they're glad he's back. As if he had been going somewhere, Quinn thinks. Their lack of faith in him irritates her, and also, she doesn't like sharing her husband. She hurries the children along to the car, and by the time she has them all inside and strapped up, Finn has managed to free himself from the crowd.

They head over to her mother's for brunch. The food is rich and heavy, and Quinn can't find anything to eat in the house except for carrot juice and a couple of celery stalks. Finn shoots her a sympathetic glance as he piles up sausages, grits and hash-browns on his plate.

They sit around the table. Quinn's father, Russel, casts his eye upon them proudly, and Quinn feels proud too.

"So, Finn, anything interesting happen on the deadline?"

It's just like Judy, to bring up something no one wants to talk about. Finn shakes his head as he gulps down the food in his mouth with a wash of soda, and then he turns to Quinn.

"Actually, yeah. You remember my friend Sam?"

"From college? I think so." She does, vaguely, from the one time Finn brought over his frat brothers.

"Well, he got traded into the team."

"I didn't know he was still playing." She can feel her father's eyes on her, like when she was a little girl and said something she wasn't supposed to. Finn frowns."I thought I told you."

"I remember everything you say, Finn." It's true, and he knows it.

Her mother passes around a large bowl. "Mashed potatoes, Quinn?"

"No, thank you." But she grabs the bowl anyway.

Her father coughs loudly. "Sam Evans, right? Played for the Eagles?"

Finn's face lights up. "Yeah. That's him."

Quinn scoops up a large serving of mashed potatoes onto Daisy's plate. Willow dips her finger into the bowl and sucks it into her mouth as she speaks. "He was on the bench a lot."

Her grandfather nods. "Yeah. But he did some interesting things last season."

"Enough to get him noticed?"

"Yeah. He's moving into the Rosewood estate with his family next week."

Finn laughs at the pinched look on Quinn's face. "You'll like them, I promise. They have a kid who's Elliott's age."

He ruffles his son's hair fondly and Quinn smiles, mollified.


	2. Chapter 2

It isn't really that she's surprised Willow's behavior would guarantee a summoning to a parent-teacher conference, it's just that she's never been summoned to one before. Not about Willow, at least. There have been plenty revolving around Elliott, and even one about Daisy and her fetish for ballet slippers, but never one quite like this, where Quinn feels she's about to be reprimanded.

When she figures out who it is that's going to be doing the reprimanding, she decides to go alone, without telling Finn. She wears her favorite Lilly Pulitzer dress and her grandmother's pearls.

Ms. Jones is just as they described her, and wearing, not a short skirt this time, but the most impossibly tight jeans. Jeggings, Quinn thinks with a shudder, exactly the kind she forbade Willow to wear.

"Mrs. Hudson?"

Quinn nods, and decides there is no time to be wasted here."What did she do?"

"Excuse me?"

"Willow, what did she do? Why am I here?"

"Mrs. Hudson, I realize you must be a very busy woman-"

"I'm never too busy for my children."

"All right, then. Well, Willow didn't do anything."

"I find that hard to believe."

"Do you receive a lot of complaints about her?"

"No. I think the teachers are afraid of her."

Ms. Jones laughs, and Quinn looks at her sharply, until she brings a hand to her mouth.

"I'm sorry, it's just, the thought of being afraid of Willow-"

"Ms. Jones, would you kindly explain why I'm here?"

"_Are_ you afraid of Willow?"

"Why would I be afraid of my own child?"

"I know dealing with kids this age can be difficult-"

"I deal with my daughter just fine."

Ms. Jones bites her lip, nowhere near as self-possessed as Quinn thought she would be. "Mrs. Hudson, Willow came to me-"

"Willow what?"

"Willow came to talk to me because-"

"Because she confused you for one of her friends?"

Ms. Jones looks mildly surprised that someone that looks like Mrs. Hudson could be so keen and Quinn sighs."Do you have children, Ms. Jones?"

"No."

"Then I hope you're not about to tell me how to raise mine."

"I just... look, Willow is a wonderful girl and-"

"I know what my daughter is like."

"I wasn't trying to-"

But Quinn is already turning around, over this whole thing the minute she walked through the door. She feels Ms. Jones hand on her shoulder like a weight and jumps, the way she does whenever someone other than Finn touches her.

"Mrs. Hudson, our counselor offers therapy for families, I'm sure she'd be more than happy to-"

If Quinn was the slapping kind, she would have turned Ms. Jones's cheek red. Instead, she heads over to the principal's office. Within the hour, fifteen mothers are present and ready sign Quinn's petition over something they don't really understand, because Quinn will never have to tell them.

* * *

"Let me get this straight. You want her fired because her clothes are inappropriate?"

"Yes."

"Doesn't that seem a little ridiculous to you?"

"No."

"She's Willow's favorite teacher, did you know that?"

"No, Finn. Willow doesn't talk to me, remember?"

He flinches at the semi-accusing look in her eyes. "Oh, come on. You were a daddy's girl, too."

She sighs. "I know."

She turns around on the bed until she's facing her husband. "Do you think I'm a good mom?"

Finn looks so taken aback she wants to kiss him."How can you even ask me that?"

"I mean, Willow hates me, and Elliott is... Elliott, and... sometimes I wonder if it's all my fault."

Finn lays a hand on her heart. "There isn't a single teenage girl in this country who gets along with her mother, Quinn. Not even you do, and you're a grown woman. And I already told you Elliott takes after me."

"I feel like I'm not trying hard enough."

Finn shrugs. "Then try harder."

Quinn looks at him, eyes round. "I thought you said I was doing fine."

"You are. But if you think you can do better, who am I to stop you?"

He's holding back laughter and pretty soon, Quinn's laughing too, rolling over him on the bed like it's a game, the kind they would have played if they had met when they were children.

* * *

"No, you know what, people are saying she had an abortion once."

"No!"

"Yes, Bree told me."

"But was it, like, before she moved here, or-"

Quinn is rolling out flour on the counter when she sees Willow walking past her. "Yeah, sorry, Willow's here. Gotta go. Talk to you later." She hangs up the phone and smiles at her daughter.

"We're making sugar cookies. Wanna help?"

There is flour smeared across the side of her face and she looks a little pathetic, thirty-six and excited about cookies, but not pathetic enough for Willow to take pity on her. "No."

She heads off towards her room, but Quinn calls out, hesitant. "Willow, wait. I want to ask you something."

Willow walks up and stands in front of her, uncomfortably close. "What? If Ms. Jones had an abortion?"

"I... no, of course not-"

" 'Cause, I don't know about her, but you sure could have used a few."

Quinn's finding out, what it's like to slap someone, only here there is no angry red, only sugar and flour, cool on Willow's cheek, and a daughter who doesn't even flinch because she's been expecting it for days.

Elliott and Daisy come in the kitchen, their hands clean and pink. Willow retreats, not for her sake, Quinn thinks, but for theirs.

Elliott grabs the cookie cutters and shows Daisy how to cut the dough into shapes, something Quinn wasn't even sure how to do until a few minutes ago, because this is the first time she's ever made cookies. The first batch burns and the icing doesn't have the consistency she was hoping for. She's got about five different tabs open on her ipad, with videos on how to do this. Elliott's stars look nothing like stars, and there is butter on Daisy's ballet slippers, and that's too much, even for Daisy. She bursts into tears as Elliott tosses his stars into the trash can, and Quinn is about to beg Willow's forgiveness and ask her to help her figure this out when a familiar voice floats in through the front door.

"Miss Quinn?"

"In here."

She is deeply sorry she ever doubted anything they told her in church when Millie, her maid, appears in the kitchen. "Millie? What are you doing here? I thought you were visiting your sister."

Millie shrugs and eyes the mess in the kitchen. "I came back early. Wanted to help you get ready for the gala. Everything OK?"  
Quinn's about to burst into story, or maybe tears, but Millie is already wiping Daisy's shoes with a wet cloth and helping Elliott make another batch of stars.

"I don't know why I thought this was a good idea."

Millie smiles indulgently. "It is a good idea."

"Not for me."

"For you too, just... maybe not today?"

She's right, and Quinn nods. "Not today."

Millie mixes some more butter into the icing, slowly."Maybe you go dance, let me take care of this?"

It's so tempting Quinn would waltz right out of the kitchen if she could.

* * *

The community center is only a few blocks away, but she runs them like she's being chased. It's empty, on Sunday morning, but the doors are never locked, not for her.

She puts her ipod on the deck and doesn't even bother choosing a song. The first thing that comes on, one of Finn's hip-hop favorites, and she's exploding on to the hardwood floor, her feet mapping out a choreography her mind is too exhausted to remember.

The music keeps going, songs of all sorts, she's not picky, blending into the next and the next and the next until two hours have passed and she's depleted every move in her repertoire in a way that would make Daisy proud. She turns off the music and sits down in the middle of the room, surrounded by mirrors on all sides, with no other choice but to look at herself in three hundred and sixty degrees. She closes her eyes, lays back, and opens them to stare at the ceiling, the only spot in the room at which looking into requires no effort.

When she knows she must go home, she drags her feet behind her, pretending she's a mermaid walking on her tail. When she gets home, the house is clean, silent and smells like cookies. Elliott and Daisy are in the kitchen, proudly licking the icing off their creations.

Elliott grabs the prettiest cookie from the tray and takes it up to Quinn.

"You want one, Mommy?"

Quinn glances at Millie, who's always in the shadows, although in this house she's more solid than Quinn has ever felt, and smiles her gratitude at her before turning back on her son.  
"No, thank you, baby. I'm going to bed."

* * *

She comes out of the dressing room and Finn smiles. She stares at her reflection in the mirror and frowns, then turns to her husband. He shrugs. "I think it looks good."

She rolls her eyes at him. "You've said the same thing about every dress I've tried on."

Finn shrugs again. "Can't help it if I think my wife is beautiful."

Quinn glances at the multiplicity of dresses strewn about the dressing room and fights the urge to cry. "I don't know, Finn. You pick."

It is one of the biggest nights of the year, the charity gala that the girls have thrown themselves into planning for the past year. Quinn's in charge of the committee, and the ball feels as monumental as her senior prom. Not much has changed since then. Three children later, she still looks about the same, and she's just as thrilled to be the girl on Finn's arm as she was at seventeen.

He comes back with a floating piece of aqua blue tulle. She laughs as she tries it on, because it's absurd, but once she has it on finds that she looks "exactly like Cinderella," Finn says as he nods his approval. It's hard to refuse him anything, so Cinderella it is.

She's fixing her makeup when Daisy runs into the room to say goodnight. She can't speak much yet, scatters words here and there, but her admiration is obvious in the way she strokes her mother's princess golden curls, so Quinn lets her stay and watch, and even lets her put on some of her lipstick.

It's around ten when Finn and her finally manage to make it out of the house, both of them looking like they're headed to their own wedding. Just as in that day, Quinn is both proud and afraid. Proud of herself, of Finn, of the event she's put together, and afraid of something going wrong in this night she's planned forever.

* * *

A lot of her carelessness about clothes stems from the fact that she runs eight miles a day and used to model before she had Jaeger. Santana brushes her long, brown hair as she lays out the plain black dress she picked out for tonight on the bed. Sam glances at it.

"What?"

"I didn't say anything."

"No, but you're looking at it like you hate it."

"I don't hate it."

"Then?"

"It's just, baby, women here wear things that are more... I don't know. Colorful."

"Well, babe, I'm not from here. I'm from there."

He sighs. "I know."

* * *

She hates it when Sam is right. A moth in a room full of butterflies, like she needed to give these women another reason to hate at her. Not that it matters to her, but today matters because these ladies' children are the ones Jaeger's going to have to make friends with at school.

Sam grabs her hand and drags her across the room, and there is Finn Hudson, whom she met only once, but who's hugging Sam like a brother. She smiles when Sam re-introduces them, Finn's hand warm and friendly around hers. "I'd introduce you to my wife, but... I don't know where she is." He laughs and looks around the room. Santana could picture any of these women being his wife.

Sam is dragged off to meet the rest of his teammates. Santana grabs a drink and hangs around the dance floor, watching with the disinterest that permeates nearly everything in her life. She's being watched too, women and their whispers floating around her like winter air.

She heads to the bar for another drink. There is someone already waiting, an Asian girl wearing a lime green dress. The bartender asks Santana what she's having, she gestures toward the girl. "She was here first."

The girl lets out a tiny squeak, avoiding Santana's eye. "I... my husband wants a..."

The bartender clicks his tongue impatiently.

"I... something with whiskey in it, I can't remember what it's called. It's... what he usually drinks."

The bartender shrugs and the girl looks around helplessly. Santana lights up a cigarette. "What's it look like?"

The girl looks down at her hands as she answers. "Umm, it's brown and it has lots of ice and a lemon slice and it comes in a short, round glass and-"

Santana turns to the bartender. "An old-fashioned, please. And I'll have the same."

The girl seems to muster the courage to look up at her, through her eyelashes, and it makes Santana laugh. "What's your name?"

"I'm..." She seems to think better of it and sticks out her hand. "Mrs. Mike Chang."

"I asked your name, not your husband's."

The girl's shoulders slump a little. "Tina. Tina Cohen-Chang."

"Nice to meet you, Tina. I'm-"

"I know who you are. You're Santana Evans."

Santana laughs again. "Lopez, actually. Sam and I aren't married."

She grinds her cigarette into an ashtray as Tina gapes at her. Their drinks arrive and Tina gets ready make an escape, but stumbles on her heels. Santana catches her, secures a hand around her drink. "Maybe I should help you with this."

Tina nods miserably and leads Santana towards her husband, who is dancing with another woman. They watch and wait until it becomes obvious that, across the room, there is a group of women watching them. Tina bows her head in defeat, and Santana glances at her with sympathy. "Should I go? I don't wanna ruin your reputation."

Tina sighs. "It's fine. They were never going to like me anyway."

"Why? You seem like a lovely girl."

Tina flushes. "Mike's quarterback, and... I'm not as pretty as them and... He's too good for me."

"I'm sure that's not true."

"Try telling them that."

Santana looks straight across the room. "I will, if you want me to." Tina grabs her by the arm, panicked. "Don't."

Santana watches the group of girls closely as they disband and join their partners, spinning one by one onto the dance floor. "Why do you care what they think anyway? They aren't even pretty, they're just a bunch of-"

A bright flash of aqua catches her eye. "Who is that?"

Tina looks at where she's staring and sighs. Santana wants to sigh too, because for all she just said, she is convinced she is looking at a princess from a fairy tale, so luminous it hurts. The song ends and her partner, an older man, leads her off the floor. Santana wants to follow, but she feels Sam's hand on her waist.

"Santana, I was looking for you, there's someone I want you to meet." He glances at the drinks in her hand and frowns. "Why are you-"

Tina grabs both old-fashioneds and smiles at Sam apologetically. "I'm sorry, these are for my husband." It brings Santana back to the world, and she glances at Tina.

"Sam, this is Tina, my new friend."

"Hello, Tina. Santana, babe, come on, I want you to meet..."

Santana lets herself be led as she mouths her thanks to Tina, and finds herself being yanked through the crowd and then stopped at a standstill in front of the girl with the aqua dress. She looks tiny in that sea of fabric, and just by looking around the room, Santana knows no other woman here would have the guts to wear that ridiculous dress, which on her just looks ethereal. The girl is clinging to Finn Hudson's huge frame and observing Santana from head to toe. Her eyes are the most unusual copper color, and they have Santana wondering if it's real until Sam nudges her and she stretches her hand forward. The girl takes it, her handshake light and her voice a breathy whisper.

"Hi. I'm Quinn Hudson."

Quinn, Santana thinks. A name you give a child, not a woman, but this woman hides behind her husband's arm like a little girl playing hide and seek.

"Santana Lopez."

Quinn looks back and forth between her and Sam. "Lopez? I thought-"

Sam immediately cuts in. "Lopez is an... important name in Santana's family. That's why she decided to keep it."

It's true, and it's not true, and Santana doesn't say anything. Quinn looks her in the eye, with mild interest, for the first time that night.

"You're a Lopez-Avner?"

It rubs Santana the wrong way. "One of the few left alive."

Sam frowns at her. "Santana is the last of her family to bear the name."

"I am not the last, Sam," she says hotly.

Finn laughs, Quinn would never have the gall to talk to him like that, and grabs Santana by the arm. "I like you."

Santana's eyes light up, until she realizes Finn is trying to drag her onto the dance floor. "Oh, no way."

He shoots her a puzzled look. "Why? Did you drink too much?"  
"Who said I was drinking?"

"I can smell the whiskey on your breath."

"I had some champagne and half an old-fashioned, if you call that drinking."

Finn laughs again. "I always forget Hispanic women can hold their liquor."

Quinn and Sam glance at each other awkwardly. She hasn't seen her husband laugh with another woman in a while. He, too, has obviously had more than his share to drink.

"So you're not gonna dance with me? You think Sam will get mad?", Finn asks, grinning at his friend.

"I don't care if he does. It's just that I don't know how to dance."

Finn looks so surprised at this he lets go of her hand immediately. "What?"

"I was watching your wife earlier", says Santana, fixing her eyes on Quinn, who feels strangely light-headed. "I definitely can't do all that."

Finn gazes at Quinn fondly. "Oh, no one can. But I can teach you some steps."

Santana shrugs and glances at Sam, who nods, and grabs Quinn's hand with a smile. "If Finn will let me borrow his lovely wife."

Finn nods and makes his way to the dance floor with Santana, where they laugh and trip over her dress and each other's feet. Quinn watches Finn, but mostly Santana. She's built differently from the women she knows, muscle and curve instead of bone. And she wonders, as she dances with Sam, why his wife doesn't know how to dance when he's so graceful.

Santana's name is all she hears all night, the hushed voices of her friends in her ear. _Black to a charity gala? Whiskey?_, and, in spite of it all, Quinn wonders if they don't all feel the way she does, like she has lost something tonight.

In her room, Millie helps her slip off her dress, heavy where it felt light. Her curls have fallen flat, she has a headache and she doesn't feel so beautiful anymore. She pulls on her pajamas as Millie gingerly places the dress inside it's travel case. She usually donates them to charity, would never wear the same thing twice, but this time she lays a hand on Millie's arm and asks her to leave it. For some reason, she can't bear the thought of giving it away.


	3. Chapter 3

**It is so scary to see this story posted and out in the open when it has always been this thing roaming inside my head, so private, the kind you tell yourself before you go to sleep. I mostly posted it because I know I need to start dealing with criticism better; it always makes me want to cry. So thanks to all those who reviewed, good and bad, it's all appreciated and helps me grow, one way or another. And thanks for reading.**

* * *

She's up at six, always, though she doesn't own an alarm clock. She tugs on her running shoes and slips into her sweats, not bothering to be quiet because nothing will wake up Sam, not until he decides, three or four hours later, that it's unavoidable.

In the kitchen, she cuts up some fresh fruit and makes orange juice. She sets everything on a tray and takes it up to Jaeger's room, where she leaves it outside the door. Her son, like his father, is a late riser.

It's freezing outside, it might even be snowing, but she's running so fast she can't really tell. It is her first day running in this neighborhood, the best way to become acquainted, although the houses surrounding her are so similar to one another that she fears she might get lost. There isn't a soul out this early, not even the sun, yet, but she feels incredibly awake.

* * *

The smell of eggs and bacon makes Finn roll out of bed immediately, groaning as he glances at the clock. Quinn keeps her sleeping mask on as she turns her languid body in the general direction of her husband. "What is it?"

"It's late."

"No it isn't, we just went to bed."

"We came home like at three, hon, remember?"

Quinn sits up suddenly. The mask falls off her eyes. "The gala was yesterday. I... I thought I had dreamed it all."

"Was it a good dream?"

His wife doesn't answer, and his eyebrows knit together as he looks at her. "You didn't have a good time?"

"Not as much as you did."

He frowns. "I don't recall having had a particularly good time."

"You were dancing with that girl all night."

"What girl?"

"Sam Evans' wife."

Finn looks mildly surprised. "You're right. I'd forgotten."

"Yeah, right."

Finn crawls on the bed until he's hovering over his wife. "Is that why you're upset?"

"I'm not upset."

"Quinn... you're not serious, are you? You know she's not my type."

"What's your type?"

"You. You're my type."

She rolls her eyes, but starts to smile. Finn takes it as a good sign, jumps off the bed and starts changing into his running gear. He raises his eyebrows at his wife. "Shouldn't you be getting up, too?"

"What for?"

"Your dance class? I bet Daisy's been up for a while."

Quinn groans and falls back into the bed. "Crap. I don't want to, Finn. I'm so tired."

"You can always call and cancel. I'm sure they'll understand."

"And I'm sure Daisy won't."

Finn shrugs. "Give her the benefit of the doubt."

* * *

She watches the neighborhood waking up as the sun rises. Even in all her apathy, she has to admit there is something to the view. She's on her way back when she runs into Finn. She doesn't recognize him, running past her, but he calls out to her as he slows down.

"Morning."

She stops dead in her tracks, because even though she's seen other runners this morning, not a single one has spoken to her, not even those she was introduced to last night. Then she realizes the man speaking is Finn, and it all makes sense.

"Hey, you."

"Hi."

Finn clears his throat. "How long you been out here?"

"Since six."

He raises his eyebrows. "You're hard-core. Where's Sam?"

Santana barely stops herself from sniggering. "Oh, Sam never gets out of bed before ten. Why do you think he never got as good as you?"

Finn stares at her, wondering if she's serious.

"Your wife in bed, too?" She asks out of politeness, not because she really wants to know.

"Probably. She was supposed to volunteer at the community center, but I think she was too tired."

Santana nods and bends over to retie her shoelaces, ready to get going. "OK. Well, I'll see you around."

"Santana, I-"

"Oh, that's right, I won't. You guys are leaving for the game tomorrow." She gives him a quick hug."Good luck."

"You're so calm about it."

"I'm used to him not being around." She could care less, and Finn feels her earning his respect.

"Santana... when Sam told me you were moving here I was hoping.. you and Quinn could be friends."

It's hard to look at Finn's frank face and say no, so she doesn't, not in so many words.

"Finn, that's what you want, and I'm sure Sam expects the same, but... is it what your wife wants?"

He sighs. "You don't have to go out of your way or anything, but..."

"If I see her, I'll be nice."

The smile on her face is rare, plastered, and it makes Finn want to laugh. "I'd settle for civil."

"Civil it is."

* * *

By the time she makes it out of bed, Daisy and Willow are already awake, having breakfast and watching Dora the Explorer in the living room. Daisy is wearing her favorite tutu, and Millie has pulled her dirty blond hair into a tight bun. She bounces off the couch as soon as she sees her mother.

"Time yet?"

Quinn sighs as she sits next to Willow, who tenses up. "We're not going to class today, sweetheart."

"Why not?"

It's no use, explaining things to Daisy, because she won't understand, so she decides she might as well lie. "Because I'm sick."

There is a silence in the living room and then Willow gets up. "You don't look very sick to me."

She storms off, towards her room. Daisy takes a long, hard look at her mother and begins crying. "You're not sick, mommy."

"Daisy, baby, I really don't feel good."

But Daisy, who only ever throws ballet related tantrums, lunges onto Quinn's lap and begins sobbing with abandon as Dora ballerina waltzes loudly across the TV screen. Quinn feels herself choking up too, her tears falling hot onto Daisy's hair.

She doesn't know how much time has passed when the sound of the TV being turned off wakes her. It's Elliott, who is sitting down by her feet. He looks so sorry for her that she can hardly stand it.

"Want me to paint your toenails, mommy?"

It was what they did, when Elliott was little, one of the few ways Quinn had found to bond with her son. He liked colors, all shades and numbers of them, and Quinn did too. It had become their ritual, until Elliott grew too old to like it anymore, or at least, Quinn thought he had.

He comes back with a bright shade of violet, he always did like his purples, and then glances at her feet. She painted her toenails just yesterday, a pale turquoise that perfectly matched her dress for the gala.

"Your nails don't really need painting, mommy."

"I think they do, Elliott."

"But they look fine. And I like that color."

Quinn nods. She liked it, too, the day she chose it, but now she can't stand it. "No. Paint them."

He shrugs and begins pouring acetone over her toes. He watches, melancholy, as the color leaks down her feet. "It was a pretty color."

Quinn feels tears begin to roll down her cheeks again, and suddenly, her whole body is wracked with sobs she can't contain, Daisy stirring on her lap.

"No, baby. It was an ugly, ugly color."  
…...

Sam is so love with the idea of Jaeger that his life revolves around his son more than it does around anything else, even his career. Santana thinks she might be the only reason Jaeger is not a spoiled brat. She has refused to fawn over him, and the only things she ever buys him are books and educational toys. Maybe because of this, he's turned out a reasonable child, with his mother's build and features and his father's pale hair and eyes. He always says what he thinks, and Santana loves that about him, because where other boys raised like him are timid and scared, her son is fearless.

His room is twice the size of theirs, a playroom and bedroom combined. There is a wall for rock-climbing, an indoor aquarium and a tree-house full of books. Everything that Jaeger has ever even expressed mild curiosity about is present in the room. It is so much fun that Santana spends a good share of her time there, and Jaeger doesn't mind. They are each other's favorite playmates, because for all Sam tries, Santana is still her son's best friend.

When she gets home, Jaeger's dishes are neatly stacked next to the kitchen sink. She examines them and comes to the conclusion that he attempted to wash them, but, having never washed anything in his life, failed miserably. She laughs out loud and tells herself she'll have to teach him, one of these days.

She makes her way down to Jaeger's room. She'd much rather be there than with Sam, who is probably still asleep. Or not, she thinks as she hears the loud music blaring from behind Jaeger's closed door. She enters without knocking and sees her son in front of the TV, playing Guitar Hero. He acknowledges her with a small nod when she sits on the floor to watch him play.

Metallica. The music Jaeger had listened to since he was in the womb. Pink Floyd, Black Sabbath, Nirvana, all of Santana's favorites. He's a natural with the guitar, but then again, he's natural at everything, her pride and joy, though she hides it well.

Jaeger finishes his solo with a flourish and Santana claps as the scores come up on the screen. They're nearly perfect, but he seems disappointed.

"I really thought I was gonna get it this time."

"Maybe this just isn't your song."

He rolls his eyes at her. "Every song is my song, mom."

"Hmmm. Can I play?"

Jaeger's eyes light up. He loves competing with Santana. She home-schooled him for a part of his life, and since then, they have made everything into a competition. Santana is pleasantly surprised by how often she loses. She doesn't have to let Jaeger win, he's merciless. They're such fierce competitors that winning often proves a struggle for both of them. There is only one thing Jaeger is decidedly better at than his mother.

"Let's do Dance Dance Revolution."

Santana groans. She hates Dance Dance Revolution, or dancing of any kind. She has two left feet, which were, luckily, not inherited by Jaeger, who has been in ballet lessons since he was three. Sometimes, she considers taking video of him and putting up online. She's seen videos of kids who don't hold a candle to him. But a huge part of her life is dedicated to making sure this kid isn't spoiled rotten, and since this doesn't seem to be one of Sam's concerns, she knows she has to keep herself from celebrating her son's achievements too much.

* * *

The next morning, Quinn really does feel sick. As soon as she opens her eyes, she knows why. Finn's open suitcase is lying next to the bed, everything packed neatly. Her eyes fill with tears, but in the back of her mind there is guilt, that she's never packed a suitcase for Finn, that she doesn't know what he takes and what he leaves.

The suitcase in the middle of the room means he doesn't have to say anything, because even after all this time, he still can't find the words to tell his wife he's leaving her alone with three children they can barely manage between the two of them.

When he comes in the room, Quinn throws his arms around him and sobs into his neck. "I don't want you to go." It's not the first time she's ever done this, but it's still unusual enough for Finn to be alarmed. He pushes her away and looks into her eyes. "Quinn, honey, what's wrong?"

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't want to ruin the gala for you."

"But you just came home."

"And I'll be back just as quickly."

"It never feels quick."

She throws herself face down on their bed. Finn picks her up and brushes the hair out of her face. "Quinn, listen to me. You've got to get yourself together. How do you expect Elliott and Daisy to react if they see you like this?"

"Does Willow know?"

"Oh, she's known for weeks."

Of course she has. Quinn wipes the tears from her cheeks, trying not to rub her eyes. She can only imagine how swollen they must be.

Finn sets her down on the carpet and kisses the top of her head. "Now, you're gonna go and have a nice breakfast, I told Millie to make you a salad, and then you're gonna go to the gym. You haven't been in a while. When you come back, I'll be gone."

Quinn nods. The gym's one of her hobbies, a hobby for all the football wives, but she'd been so distracted with the gala that it's been weeks since she's gone. It's the last thing she feels like doing, but Finn's asking her to and he hardly ever asks her for anything. "Are you gonna say goodbye to the children?"

He shakes his head. "Just Willow. And don't worry, I'll tell her to talk to them."

In these moments, Willow's actually more useful than her mother, better at comforting her siblings, better at helping Finn, better at handling life in general, though Quinn would never admit it to anyone but her husband.

She hugs him tightly one last time and then heads into the kitchen. Millie looks at her, but not for too long, and pushes her salad across the counter, towards her.

* * *

The gym is eerily silent when she walks in. It's no more empty than usual, but for once, none of the women are staring at her or whispering to one another. They actually seem like they're there just to work out this time. Santana plugs in her earphones, and the world disappears. She doesn't think back to it again until she's in the locker room, usually packed with women doing their hair in front of the foggy mirrors, but deserted today, save for her. It's almost, she thinks, like no one wants to leave.

She takes a quick shower, and when she comes out, there is a woman sitting on one of the benches, her head in her hands. The sound of Santana's footsteps startles her, and she looks up. A cell phone falls from her lap and onto the floor, splitting open. The battery lands by Santana's feet, and she picks it up without thinking. She looks into the woman's eyes, amber like sunshine. She would know her just by her irises, even when they're tinged with red.

"Are you all right?"

Quinn takes the battery from her. "Yes. I'm fine."

She tries to put the phone back together, but it's clear she has no idea how. Santana takes it from her gently and snaps everything into place.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome. Are you sure you're OK?"

"Are you?"

She doesn't stop, to think about what she means. Girls begin coming in, but Santana ignores them and gives Quinn back her phone. "Listen, I talked to Finn yesterday, and he-"

Quinn looks up at her in disbelief. Somewhere, somebody gasps, and then they're all staring at her.

"Why would my husband be talking to you on his last day here?"

It's a dangerous question, whether answered or not. "His last day? You're acting like he's dead."

From behind Santana, Kitty's voice interrupts them. "So it doesn't matter to you, that your husband's gone?"

All of sudden, she understands everything, the red eyes, the question. She turns to Quinn, incredulous. "That's what this is all about? Finn leaving for the game?"

She very much doubts Quinn's ever slapped anybody, but she looks like she wants to, now. Santana feels slightly sorry for her, and slowly steps away. She heads to her own locker, feeling a little ridiculous because she just had an argument in her bathrobe. The girls watch her, but their interest soon dies and they all exit, escorting Quinn, until there is just one left.

Santana turns around and finds Tina staring at her in disbelief. She hasn't seen her since the day of the gala, and she looks even more crestfallen than she did then, if that's possible.

Santana shrugs. "I don't get what I said."

"You brought it up. Everyone tries to not to, at least not for a couple of days after they leave."

So that's why the silence, why she stopped being the center of attention.

"Jesus, they act like they're army wives."

By the look on Tina's face, she probably didn't welcome the reminder either.

"Oh, no, Tina. You, too?"

Her eyes well-up. "It's hard when he's here, imagine when he's not." She looks up at her. "Aren't you sad?"

Santana shakes her head. "I'm used to being alone. Sometimes when Sam is here... I wish he wasn't."

For the others, especially Quinn, it's hard not to take Santana's insouciance as a personal offense, but while Tina finds her differences shocking, they don't feel like a threat. It only makes sense that if fifty percent of marriages are unhappy, she was bound, sooner or later, to meet a woman who belonged to the other half.


	4. Chapter 4

**Ummm, there are a lot of questions in the reviews, so I'm gonna clear up some stuff. I grew up in the south, so I picture the setting of this story to be a rich, southern neighborhood or something to that effect. And, as much as it is based on Glee, this fic is also based on the story of my mother, who was raised in an affluent, conservative family.**

**The title will be explained, just not very soon, I'm afraid. And everything else will hopefully begin to make sense soon, too, I'm just trying to not give too much away. I'm sorry if anyone is confused about all this, that's why I stated in the description it was very, very AU, and I know it takes some getting used to. But endgame is Santana and Quinn, always.**

**Thanks for reading. :)**

* * *

They have dinner at her parents' every night Finn is away, because Quinn can't stand the thought of sitting at the head of the table, alone, with her children watching her.

At her parent's, she feels small again, like she's stepped years back, into adolescence or maybe childhood, and her offspring are her siblings. Her dad sends the driver to their house to pick them up at five-thirty sharp, but Quinn can tell they all think it's a little absurd, even the children.

At the table, Willow and her grandmother talk animatedly. Judy doesn't mind Willow, mostly because she blames Quinn for the way her granddaughter turned out, which makes two of them.

In the foyer, Elliott and Daisy are playing with Daisy's Barbie dolls, a present from grandpa Russel. Daisy is his favorite, maybe because she's the one looks most like him. It's Elliott who doesn't look like anyone in particular, brown haired, brown eyed and round faced. Quinn's son is soft, like she thinks she might be if she always ate whatever she wanted.

"Quinn?"

Her train of thought is interrupted by her mother, who is looking at her pointedly.

"Yeah?"

"I was saying I'm going to need Puck tomorrow."

"What for?"

She even sounds like a teenager, a pouting one, and Judy raises her eyebrows at her. "I have errands to run, Quinn. And, really, this whole thing is ridiculous. Not knowing how to drive. At your age."

"_You_ don't know how to drive."

Judy dismisses her with a wave of her hand. "I'm from another time."

Her father chimes in. "Quinn, why don't you ask Finn to hire you a driver?"

Quinn sighs. "He's still hoping I'll learn."

"Maybe you should, then, sweetheart."

Judy yawns. "Anyway. I think you can miss the gym for a day."

"No, I can't. You don't understand."

"Would you care to explain it to us?"

But how can she, how can she say she can't be at home if he's not there? Instead, she grabs her purse and gets up.

"We'll be going now. Come on, Willow."

She heads to the foyer without stopping. There, she finds Daisy strewn across the floor, asleep, and Elliott quietly brushing one of her Barbie's hair. Irritated, Quinn snatches it away from him and tries to gather Daisy and her toys into her arms. Outside, Puck is already waiting to take them back.

* * *

She feels like a caged tiger in that house, knowing now that without Puck, there's no way out. She's too embarrassed to ask anybody for a ride, or to arrive to the gym, as further proof of her uselessness, in a cab.

Millie watches her pacing around the kitchen, and finally asks is something is wrong. It seems so trivial, but to Millie nothing that has to do with her ever does, so Quinn tells her. The kids are in school, Millie always walks them there when Finn is gone, and there is nothing here to distract her. The gym is too far to walk, and Millie bites her lip thoughtfully. "If you want, my boyfriend can give you a ride. I'll call him."

It seems like a good idea at the time, mostly because Millie is so gracious in her offering. She's obviously not thinking straight, not thinking things through until Millie is waving her off and she's sitting in an old Impala next to a young. tattooed man who doesn't look too happy to be there. They drive in silence for the first three minutes, until he says "Fuck this," and turns up the volume on his stereo to hiphop that is much more hardcore than anything Finn listens to. He obviously has no qualms about a lady listening to this kind of music. Quinn has never heard so many curse words strung together in her life, and realizes, like a bolt of lightning, how sheltered she's been. She wonders how Millie puts up with this, not just the music but everything, the car, the man, the reckless driving in this bumpy road that is not her usual way to the gym.

Maybe he's lost, she thinks, and wonders if she should say something but then thinks better of it. They're in a part of town she doesn't know, but by the look of it, he must know it well. They drive in silence down the road for about ten minutes and then Quinn asks herself when the appropriate time to jump out of a car when you think you're being kidnapped is. She tries to calm down, but they should be at the gym by now, and then, in the middle of nowhere, Millie's boyfriend stops the car and gets out. He walks into a rickety old house, and Quinn is about to open her door and jump out, only she has to roll down the window and open it from the outside because it won't open from the inside, when he comes back. He gets in the car, beer can in hand, and continues driving, not before shooting Quinn a weird look for rolling down her window in the middle of winter.

She takes out her phone and thinks of texting Kitty, but how will she explain? It was stupid, getting a ride from a man she doesn't know, a man who looks like this. She can't call her parents either, and it dawns on her, how alone she is.

There are only two people she can think of texting with the truth, and one of them is Millie, whom she's always truthful with. Quinn knows, because she's been told, that she's smarter than Millie, that Millie's just a maid who probably didn't graduate high school, but she very seldom really feels that way. It's Millie who always knows what to do, who has a solution for everything, who is calm and efficient in a way Quinn doesn't think she will ever be. But right now, asking her for help is out of the question, because how exactly do you tell a woman that you think her boyfriend is kidnapping you?

The only other person who comes to mind is Puck. Except that he can't help now, he's with her mother, and she's the last person Quinn would ever want to find out about this. Just the thought of dying here, in this neighborhood, scares her more because of what her mother would say than because she's really afraid of being dead. This is what makes her decide to text Puck in the end. She wants, above all, to make sure her body is never found if she does end up here. She sticks her hand inside her purse, trying to text without being noticed.

To: Puck

I think I'm being kidnapped. Don't tell my mother.

From: Puck

Quinn? Where are you? Who are you with?

To: Puck

I have no idea, and it's a long story.

From: Puck

You see any street signs?

To: Puck

Corner of Boone and Scott.

From: Puck

That's near where I live.

Quinn takes a look around. She would have never imagined. Puck, in his permanent suit and tie, looks like he belongs in the Fabray estate, and it never occurred to her that he might belong somewhere else, too.

To: Puck

Good. Then you can come find my body and make sure no one ever knows I died here.

From: Puck

I could tell Mrs. Fabray I have a family emergency and come get you.

Except Judy doesn't believe in family emergencies, and there's really no point in getting Puck fired if she's going to die anyway.

To: Puck

No.

She thinks she should do something else, maybe write some farewell words to her children, but she doesn't think Willow would appreciate getting that kind of text, and Elliott doesn't have a phone. Her heart sinks a little when she thinks about him, and she regrets not getting him the iphone he asked for during Christmas. He'd be such a big comfort.

Her iphone starts ringing, and she sees Puck' name light up the screen. Panicked, she turns to look at Millie's boyfriend, who is so into his rap he isn't even looking at her. She tries to hang up, but instead ends up turning up the volume all the way up. She drops the phone, panicked, and as she bends down to pick it up, feels the car come to a stop. She sits back up slowly, certain this is it, and when she looks up, she finds herself staring at the facade of the gym.

She buries her head in her hands and almost cries with relief, but instead turns to the man next to her and says thank you, and she is truly so grateful, not for the ride, but because he didn't hurt her. He doesn't say anything, just looks at her oddly. She gets out of the car before she can do something stupid, like kiss his hands. He drives off, speeding through the parking lot with his loud music blasting and Quinn's phone rings again. It's Puck.

"I'm coming to get you."

"No, Puck, I'm fine. I'm at the gym."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, I swear."

"You okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine. Everything's fine. I'll explain later."

But they both know she won't, she doesn't have to, that's why she called him. He will forget about this, put it away in the same place he put away the time he picked her up from the hospital and held her in the car for thirty minutes, trying, and failing, to absorb the unfathomable grief in her tiny body.

An SUV is beeping at her, she's standing in the middle of the parking lot, and inside it she sees Kitty, giving her a quizzical look. She rolls down the window and points to Millie's boyfriend's car, leaving the parking lot.

"What was that?"

"Don't even ask."

Kitty opens the passenger door, and Quinn jumps in. "Are you cheating on Finn?"

"Not funny, Kitty. I thought I was about to be kidnapped."

They park, and Quinn helps Kitty get her gym bag out of the car. "Quinn, why would you even-"

"Kitty, just do me a favor, OK?"

"Yeah."

"Give me a ride home when we're done."

* * *

It isn't until later that she realizes that she has successfully managed to go on half the day without thinking of Finn. Of course, that might be due to the fact that she thought she was about to die, but shockingly enough, Finn didn't flash once through her head. It worries her a little, and the instinctual guilt kicks in. Why wasn't her husband in what she thought were going to be her last thoughts? She shakes it off. She was thinking about her children, a mother always thinks about her children first.

As usual, Puck drives them home after dinner at her parents', and then drops her and Daisy off at the community center for Quinn's ballet class.

She's been volunteering there for almost three years now, started right after Daisy was born. She teaches a couple of dance classes, but beginner's ballet is her favorite, a class full of toddlers and kindergarteners just like Daisy, who had been coming to class with Quinn since before she could walk.

All of the girls there are either her friend's daughters or Daisy's playmates, most of whom she has known since before birth.

It would be stupid, to say this is the highlight of Quinn's life, but sometimes she thinks it might be, or at least it used to. She has never felt like she's very good at anything, but sometimes she thinks she might be good at this, and if she didn't have children, she would be content to eat, drink and sleep dance the way Daisy does. She has taught Finn and Elliott to dance too, waltzes and everything they might ever need to know in a social setting. Only Willow hasn't wanted to learn, to her it's just another one of the trivial, frivolous things in Quinn's life, and she's not interested.

"One, two, three, plie, four, five, six, turn around."

The newness of it all, however, soon wears off, and Quinn wonders if every new and exciting part of her life is destined to be absorbed into her daily routine, therefore losing about ninety percent of its initial appeal.

None of the toddlers can really keep up with her, and she doesn't expect them to. Instead, they just admire her form and grace, Daisy more than anyone, as they try to copy her. When they get out it's already dark, and plenty of people offer her rides, but Quinn likes pushing Daisy's stroller through the couple of blocks it takes them to get home.

* * *

There is only one thing in all of Jaeger's room that is of supreme interest to Santana, and that is his microscope. He has one fit for an adult, which Santana, convinced of the prodigious nature of her son, bought him at the age of four. She had surprised herself by getting it, and Sam as well, he had frowned upon it and accused her of getting it as a present to herself.

Afraid it was true, she kept her hands off it for years, never forgetting it was there, like a glowing light tempting her into Jaeger's room, but managing to keep the feelings this piece of plastic and metal was giving her buried within.

It wasn't until they moved into the new house that she allowed herself to touch it. Jaeger only played with it occasionally, never as interested in it as Santana had hoped he'd be, thought he had taught himself how to use it, as both Sam and Santana had refused to help.

She had taken it out of its box, telling herself she was only making sure it still worked. The truth is, she was so frantic to look at something that she bit the inside of her cheek until she drew blood, which she placed eagerly on a slide. It looked just as she remembered, and she sighed with relief. Next came saliva, her hair, the dirt under her fingernails, and anything she could get her hands on, feeling again like that child who almost thirty years ago had discovered what sand really looked like when magnified and had been forever hooked.

She had counted the days until Sam left and Jaeger started school. Then, every morning, after she dropped him off at school, she went into his room to look at samples she gathered during the day, only allowing herself ten or fifteen minutes. As the days went by, everything became more complex and comfortable, and she found herself losing track of time as she jotted things down on pen and paper. She had to tear herself away from it all to go to the gym, to cook dinner, to try to lead the normal life that had been promised to her if she left it all behind.

But the problem was, it wasn't behind. It was on the tips of her fingers, on the roots of her hair. How could she say no to looking at life when it was everywhere, in every dust particle, in every dead cell of skin, when you looked through eyes that zoomed into everything, and lost focus of the rest?

* * *

Game night, Quinn puts the kids to bed early, around five-thirty, and locks herself in her room. Willow prances about the house, slamming doors and turning on the TV as loud as it will go, like she wants to make sure everybody knows that it's her father out there tonight and that Quinn isn't showing him the respect he deserves. She's ordered pizza and made popcorn, having the sort of celebration Quinn knows they should all be having together. And yet she can't bring herself to do it.

Still in her pajamas, she brings a chair as close to the TV as she can get, and watches the camera zooming in on Sam's face. It's a decisive game, for him, and his nerves are palpable even though the screen. Then the camera pans out and she spots Finn's backside, which she'd know even without the letters and numbers. Hudson. She remembers feeling so thrilled, the first time she spotted his jersey after they got married, knowing she was a Hudson now, too.

In spite of what anybody might think, she knows the game in and out, ever since Finn joined the team in high school. She knows every rule, every move. Finn loves showing her off to his teammates, because most of their wives are so over football, but to Quinn, it's her life, it's her husband, it's her children. It's just that lately, it's gotten increasingly hard to watch.

This is the first game she has sat down to actually watch in its entirety after what feels like a long time. It was always nerve-wracking, but she finds that in the time she's been away, it's suddenly not, because Finn has gotten so good he makes it look easy.

After the first quarter, she finds her eyes inexplicably drawn to Sam Evans, more so than to her husband. Maybe because he's the underdog, maybe because she senses he needs more support than Finn, who has everyone at his feet. She shuts off the TV before the game is over, right after they bench Sam, puts on her sleeping mask and takes some sleeping pills. Maybe tomorrow, Finn will be home.


	5. Chapter 5

**About updates: I have been updating every day so far, because it was Quinntana week and because I had some stuff already written. I'm getting to the point where I'm running out, though, so I will post this chapter today and probably another tomorrow. After that, I will be updating on Sundays for sure, maybe sooner if I can manage to get it done faster, but if not, you can expect an update every Sunday.**

* * *

The room is shut tightly, curtains drawn. The air inside is stuffy and smells like lavender, and it's hot and dark even though it's only two in the afternoon. Finn approaches the bed, where his barely-there wife is strewn across a pile of pillows, her body limp and flowy in a pale peach nightgown. He lies down next to her and kisses her cheek. She's fever warm and her cheeks are flushed, but she's breathing calmly and peacefully.

"Quinn?"

She hums a little, and then begins smiling, she knows who this is, she can smell him. Finn rolls her sleeping mask down gently and rolls her over until there is a hint of sunlight shining across her face. She won't open her eyes, but won't let go of him, her arms are wrapped around his shoulders and she's planting kisses and running her fingers all over his face. He laughs and feels her so warm for a second he's worried, until he takes off her nightgown and feels her stomach cool and flat.

Later, they both lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, and Quinn finally opens her eyes, which seem to light up the whole world, or at least Finn's.

"Babe?"

"Yeah?"

"I missed you."

"I missed you too, hon."

"I was thinking..."

"Yeah?"

"Do you think I could get a driver?"

"Again, Quinn? I thought you said you were gonna learn."

"I am, I promise, it's just for right now."

"I feel like you're giving up."

"I'm not, Finn, it's just gonna take a while."

"Well, you definitely won't learn if you have somebody else doing it for you."

Quinn hates being a disappointment to her husband, so she says nothing more. Driving was something her parents had warned her against since she was very young, almost as if afraid she would be one of those rebellious girls who learn to drive at a young age and are never seen again. It was also something her mother didn't do, and didn't seem to need to do, so Quinn always assumed paying someone to drive you around was the most natural thing in the world.

Finn had been trying to teach her since they were in high school, but then he had gone off to college and had been so busy with football and classes that he never found the time. Now, in spite of his job, he was willing to make it, but Quinn found in herself a new fear that had grown with years of avoiding it. It wasn't something that she could explain to Finn because it seemed so stupid, he just thought she liked the idea of having a driver, or else that she was just plain lazy or too stupid to understand how a steering wheel worked. Whatever it was that he thought, it was probably better than the actual truth, more proof that she was indeed the defective wife she was convinced she was, not as readily apparent as in the case of Tina Cohen-Chang, but plain in her own eyes, in Willow's eyes, in Judy's eyes. All she could bear, except not being good enough in Finn's eyes.

…...

She doesn't know how she falls asleep again, or what day it is when she wakes up, only that there is smoke in her room and the nauseating smell of steak all around, and Finn is gone. She practically has to throw herself off the bed to wake up, and she crawls around on the carpet until she finds her fuzzy pink slippers, which she slides onto her feet with care.

In the kitchen, she judges the time to be around noon, because Millie's frying Finn's regular lunch meat and the sun seems to be hitting the kitchen skylight just so.

"Where's my husband?", she asks Millie, trying to fight off a yawn.

Millie smiles a little and only says, "In the driveway."

Quinn frowns. Why would Finn be in the driveway? The only time he was ever out there was during those first days he tried to play catch with Elliott, a pastime which quickly ended when Finn realized how much his son hated it.

It doesn't seem like Millie is going to contribute anymore, so Quinn heads outside, one foot in front of the other, to find a brand new car, midnight blue, that she's never seen before. The color seems a little off for Finn, he usually prefers reds, until she sees it isn't her husband behind the wheel, but Willow. Willow, reversing out of the driveway at full speed like she had been doing it since the day she was born. And maybe she had, Quinn thinks, remembering how Finn had sat her on his lap as he drove, when she was barely a toddler, his huge hands over her tiny ones on the steering wheel, maybe hoping to teach her that this was normal, a game, so she wouldn't turn out like her mother.

She feels a pang of jealousy as she walks towards the car, maybe because she had thought the car was for her, maybe because Willow is about to upstage her on the largest of stages, once again. Finn sees her and waves her over, Willow doesn't even turn to look her way.

"Quinn, look what I got."

That's one of the things she loves about Finn, how in spite of the fact that he's rich and a star, he can still manage to get excited about anything, never growing jaded as his other teammates had. She wishes she could share in his joy.

"Yeah, I see."

"Do you like it?"

"Does Willow?"

"Of course, she picked it out."

"Did she."

It isn't a question, because they all know the answer, and for a second, Finn looks worried.

"Quinn, it isn't-"

"It isn't what, her birthday?"

She tries to keep it light, but Finn knows her too well.

"It isn't really for her. I just thought... since you needed someone to drive you around, I thought Willow could learn and then she can take you wherever you need to go when I'm not here. And when you learn, you can drive it."

"Oh. Is she going to driver's ed?"

"No. I'm gonna teach her myself. I think after today she'll have the hang of it."

Quinn nods, and, feeling slightly defeated, walks back into the house. Millie already has her kale smoothie ready, and hands it to her without comment, until Quinn says, "I guess it is a nice car."

Millie nods sagely. "Your car, soon."

"Oh, don't count on it."

"Why?"

"Willow's not gonna give it up. Plus, I'm still not sure I'll learn that quickly. Willow's going to have to drive me around forever. I bet she'll be thrilled."

"Maybe... it's a good opportunity for you and Miss Willow to become friends."

Quinn mulls this over as she chews her thick juice. It sounds far too simple, but it could be a start.

…...

When she comes home from the gym, she finds Finn at the dining room table, amidst a scattering of what looks like pink paper, fabric and ribbon, writing with surprisingly ornate penmanship. She has a seat at the other end of the table, seven chairs down from him.

"What are you doing?"

He looks up at her and smiles. "Working on the invitations for Daisy's party."

Quinn brings a hand up to her forehead, and would sit down, if she wasn't already. "Shoot."

"It's fine. We got everything under control."

By we he means him and Millie, and possibly Willow, and Quinn wonders how she ever complains about having to raise her kids on her own, about Finn being away, when it seems like she's always getting rescued from her responsibilities.

"It's not fine, Finn. I forgot my daughter's birthday."

"It's still three days away, Quinn. Plenty of time to hand-deliver the invitations. And I'm sure you wouldn't have forgotten on the actual day."

"I'm just glad she's too young to remember."

She picks up one of the envelopes Finn is working on. It's addressed to Samuel and Santana Evans, Rosewood Drive.

She makes a face. "Ugh. Do we have to?"

"Quinn, be nice."

"Her last name is not even Evans."

"I thought it would be rude to point it out, but..." He hands her a blank envelope. "You can make another one."

Quinn takes the pen from him and writes another. Samuel Evans and Santana Lopez-Avner, Rosewood Drive. Finn glances at it. "Is the Avner really necessary? You're just doing it to piss her off."

"No, you know what would?" She grabs another envelope and writes again. Mr. and Mrs. Samuel Evans, Rosewood Drive.

Finn sighs, but takes the envelope and stuffs an invitation and stuff it inside. Quinn smiles.

"Who's gonna deliver this? Millie?"

"I thought you could do it."

"I don't even want her to come."

"OK. I guess I can give it to Sam."

It's just like her husband, to not be embarrassed about handing a pink envelope to a teammate in a room full of guys.

* * *

The pink envelope on the kitchen counter looks slightly foreboding. It's addressed to Mr. and Mrs. Samuel Evans, and Santana shudders just to think of what's in it. She's thinking about tossing it into the garbage disposal when Sam comes in the room and catches her looking at it.

"Oh, yeah, Finn gave me that today."

"What's it for?"

Sam shrugs. "Open it."

Santana shakes her head and hands it to him. "You do it."

He rolls his eyes and wants to tell her to grow up, but bites his tongue and slices the envelope open with his paper knife.

A beautifully crafted ballet tutu made with pink tulle falls out, and Santana thinks, of course, nobody else could have made this but Quinn Hudson.

"It's Daisy's birthday", Sam says, like not any of this needs explaining.

"Who's Daisy?"

"One of their children, obviously."

"I didn't even know they had kids."

"They do. Three."

"So... we're going?"

"Of course we're going. And make sure to get her a nice present. None of that cheap shit you get Jaeger. We don't need the Hudsons thinking we're destitute."

They can hardly think we're destitute when we live in a house like this, Santana thinks. Sam had felt at home right away, because it reminded him of the house where he grew up, but to Santana it was foreign. She had grown up in an upscale apartment in Chicago, but was slowly learning there were different types of upscale, and this house definitely was, large and full of windows and decorated as if King Louis the Great might visit at any time.

"Yeah, sure. I'll get her something."

"Take Jaeger with you to pick it out. At least we know his taste is up to par."

* * *

They go to the fanciest mall in town, because Santana can't figure out where to get the present Sam is expecting, but at least there, she knows it won't be cheap. She lets Jaeger guide her through it, he's been here plenty, with his new friends from school and with Sam. He takes a detour through the food court, which Santana sees right through, but pretends to be spontaneous anyway.

"You want an ice cream cone?"

His face lights up. "You won't tell dad?"

"Do I ever?"

They are all into organic eating. Even Jaeger, at his age, is a vocal supporter. Sam had insisted his child be raised that way, and Santana, for once, had agreed. But she didn't see the harm in allowing Jaeger to enjoy junk food every once in a while.

At the food court, Santana confesses she has no idea what to get Daisy. "I don't even know how old she's turning."

"The invitation didn't say?"

"I didn't see it."

"Oh. Well, I think she must be turning three."

Santana raises her eyebrows, impressed, but not for a moment doubting her son's word.

"I've seen her in the Toddlers C group."

"So, you actually know who she is?"

"I know who everyone is."

"Oh. OK. What's she like?"

"Real cute. She smiles a lot, and she has chubby cheeks and dimples and her hair is funny, 'cause it's cut like she's a model, but she's only a little girl."

"And her eyes?"

Jaeger looks at her weirdly. "Her eyes are brown. Oh, and she always wears a ballet tutu."

"No wonder you like her."

"Her brother's in my class."

"Are you friends with him?"

"No. He's quiet."

"What's his name?"

"Elliott. I tried talking to him once, but he didn't answer."

"Was he mean to you?"

"No. I think he's just shy."

She grabs a napkin and wipes some chocolate off of Jaeger's face. "So, what do you think we should get Daisy?"

He hums pensively. "I'm not sure. But I know where we can get it."

"Where?"

"The toy store."

Santana should have expected this, but thought her son would come up with a more original answer, and is beginning to think the only reason he wants to go there is to get something for himself, only he probably already owns everything at that store anyway. Once they get there, however, she has to admit he was on the right track. While she had thought about getting Daisy a dress or one of those hideous collectible dolls, the stuff at this store is so much more fun, and educational, too. She finds herself pining for a few of the chemistry sets, and lets Jaeger run around the store searching for the perfect gift while she examines them more closely.

"I got it, mom."

She turns and sees Jaeger coming down the aisle, carrying a box almost as large as him.

"What is that?"

But Jaeger doesn't answer and instead proceeds to set it on the floor. It's a build-your-own-dinosaur model.

"Uh, I was thinking more along the lines of a stuffed animal or something."

"No, this is awesome, she'll love it."

"Jaeger, are you sure this isn't something you want and not something you think she would want?"

"I already have, like, three of these."

"But this doesn't look like the kind of toy a girl who wears a tutu would-"

"Do I look like the kind of boy who likes ballet?"

Jaeger often does this, leaves her speechless with a clarity of thought belonging to someone much older, a clarity that she thinks sometimes not even she has. In the end, it's part that she doesn't have the heart to say no when he searched so diligently and part that the model it's actually pretty cool once she takes a look at it that makes her decide to get it. She has it wrapped, with Hello Kitty gift wrap, so Sam won't know what it is, and hopes Jaeger won't think to tell him, even though as far as she's concerned, it meets the main requirement. It was anything but cheap.


	6. Chapter 6

Ages of the kids: Jaeger and Elliott are both seven, Daisy is three and Willow is sixteen. And Jaeger would be Yay-grr.

Next update on Sunday.

Thanks for reading. :)

* * *

It is the third ballet birthday party they've had in a row, the first at Quinn's insistence, the other two, Daisy's choice. This one is, of course, last minute, and Quinn, even when she found out about it, hadn't had the heart to help put it together. They had everything they needed, from previous years, and though Daisy won't remember all the repeated decorations, Quinn feels slightly guilty to think that their guests might.

She doesn't even need to tell Millie to make the cake, when she gets up that morning, it's already underway, a giant ballet slipper. The year before, it had been Angelina Ballerina, and before, cupcakes shaped like tutus. Only Millie could put so much love into a party she's seen repeated for the past three years and still try to make it different, and Quinn knows that she will forever credit her and Finn with this one.

An hour before their guests are scheduled to arrive, she goes to Willow's room, to check on her outfit for the party. She doesn't find her there, but in Daisy's ballet and My Little Pony decorated room, helping her little sister with her hair, and wearing a surprisingly appropriate outfit, white jeans and a pink tee. She leaves before they can see her and heads to Elliott's room.

She finds him spread out on his bed, gingerly playing with one of Daisy's invitations.

"Why does Daisy always get all the pretty things?"

"Excuse me?"

"Daddy never made me any invitations."

"Elliott, you hate parties."

"I hated the parties you wanted to throw for me."

"Well, what kind of parties do you like?", she asks, dreading the answer.

"I... I don't know, mom."

"Look, I... we'll talk about this later, OK? Just... do you know what you're wearing?"

"Of course."

"Can I see it?"

Khakis, a pale yellow shirt. At least she never has to worry about Elliott being well-dressed. She places a kiss on top of his head. "Be in the foyer by three, please."

"I will."

* * *

They ride to the party in Sam's white BMW, Daisy's huge wrapped gift sitting on the backseat next to Jaeger. Sam doesn't ask what it is, but looks pleased at the extravagance, and is reassured by Jaeger's offhand comment about how much Daisy will love it.

The Hudson's house is just as Santana expected, large, lavish and eerily like all other houses she's seen since she's been here, including their own. There are little girls in tutus going inside, and she sighs heavily. Sam casts her a warning look as he parks and takes the gift out of the car, which he hands to Santana once they're outside.

"Why do I have to carry it?"

"So you can give it to Daisy."

"I don't even know who she is."

"Well, neither do I."

Jaeger steps in between them. "I'll give it to her."

Sam shakes his head. "Don't be ridiculous, you can barely carry it."

But Jaeger is already taking it out of his mother's hands, hoisting onto his shoulders and lifting it into the air, as if to prove his father wrong. Sam only smiles indulgently as they follow Jaeger inside.

The place is packed and pale pink, and Santana finds herself wondering if it looks like this only today, or all the time. Jaeger spots Daisy right away, and Santana realizes his description of her was so spot on she could have easily picked her out from any other girl in the crowd. She's not pageant beautiful like her mother, but she's got the cutest smile in the room. She's being led around by a teenage girl with pink hair that Helen at first glance thinks must be Barbie wearing a wig, only her eyes are blue. Jaeger, like the gentleman he is, bows before them and hands Daisy her present, which Willow takes with a smile and tucks under the only free arm she's got. She lowers Daisy so she can kiss Jaeger's cheek, which she does with the grace of someone who has been taught that her kisses are special. Jaeger pats her head and heads back to his parents, grinning widely.

Finn spots them and ushers them out to the backyard, where the party's being held. Sam wanders off, to take pictures of Jaeger, while Santana looks around. The Hudson's backyard is odd. They don't have a pool, and half of the backyard resembles a forest to which one can see no clear end. There is a tire swing hanging from one of the many trees, and behind that, everything lurks into wild darkness and shadows. It's melancholy, different from the rest of the house. Finn turns to her.

"You like it?"

"Yeah, I... did you guys build it?"

Finn shakes his head. "It was like this when we got it. I wanted to remodel, put a pool in, but Quinn didn't want to. She liked it like this."

"Doesn't seem like her."

Finn smiles a little. "You think you know my wife now?"

Santana, for some reason, blushes. "No. I'm sorry. She just seems so..."

"One-note?"

"No."

"Santana, I would have thought you were too smart to peg anyone as a one-note, even someone as beautiful as my wife."

"It's not... because I'm jealous of her or anything, if that's what you're thinking."

"Oh, I know. That's the reason I asked you to be her friend, I know you aren't that kind of girl."

"Now look who's pegging who."

Finn laughs good-naturedly.

"You can't blame me, Finn. I mean, look around you. Look at her."

And there she is, in the middle of the overtly decked-out yard, like a forest fairy, in a dress of pale lilac lace. Finn sighs fondly, and then glances at the ballet decorations around them.

"I'll have you know I planned this party all by myself, including Daisy's outfit."

"Doesn't she always wear that?"

"Darn. Who told you?"

"My son. He's seen her at school. "

"They're in the same grade?"

"No. Jaeger just makes it his business to know everything."

"With a mother like you, it's no wonder."

His laugh catches Quinn's ear immediately. She turns her head toward them, angling her face to the sunlight, her eyes on Santana sharp and yellow like a bird's. She makes her way across the yard to them, and Santana wants to bolt, but her feet keep her rooted to the ground. Quinn grabs on Finn's arm and pulls him.

"Come on. We should cut the cake."

Finn shakes his head. "It's still early, Quinn. Have you said hi to Santana?"

"Hi, Santana."

She says it without even looking at her, like the words are being forced out of her, and Santana doesn't say anything. Quinn looks at her, expectant, but Santana stays silent, and when Finn shoots her a pleading look, she shrugs.

"I better go find Sam."

He's in the kitchen, having a beer with some of his teammates. She heads in the opposite direction, where she's spotted Tina, sitting by herself. There's a little girl in a purple tutu asleep in her arms, and Tina looks utterly trapped. Santana takes the child from her gently as she gets up and stretches.

"Thanks. Bathroom.", she mouths as she heads in the general direction of the house. Santana stares at the little girl in her arms and almost drops her when the thought occurs to her that she could have had this instead of Jaeger, and no idea how to raise her. Her eyes flit about again, looking for her son, but she's momentarily distracted by the sight of a boy hiding behind the branches of a tree. She isn't the only one watching him, a group of Jaeger's friends is too, and just like that, he disappears into the forest. She would be certain she'd imagined it if she couldn't hear the group of boys laughing behind his back. It stings, as if it had been her they were laughing at.

Quinn doesn't let go of Finn's arm for the rest of the night. She watches, from where she's sitting, Willow handling the whole party, looking to Finn for reassurance from time to time, but otherwise completely confident in her role. It makes Quinn unwillingly proud, she can see how Willow could be her perfect replacement, and, while satisfying, the idea of being replaced is not something she's ready to come to terms with. Daisy, too, seems to be shining with a brighter light today. No trace left of the tantrumy child she had to deal with last week, she's waving at a boy running across her yard, a pale blond with Santana's sharp features. Even though he's the new kid, he's completely at ease with the other children, and Quinn feels a pang of resentment.

* * *

They're playing hide and seek, and Jaeger is looking for a place to hide. He runs into the forest, knows the other kids will be too scared to hide there, swiftly until he trips on a root which sends him flying. He doesn't see where he lands but feels warm skin beneath him, and if he was any other boy, he'd be afraid. Instead, he gets up calmly and shakes the dirt from his knees. It's that boy, the one in his class, who doesn't talk. They stare at each other until Jaeger stretches out a hand to help him, but Elliott shakes his head and gets up.

"I can do it myself."

"I never said you couldn't."

"Then why are you offering to help me?"

"I would have done it with anyone."

"Right."

"What were you trying to do, anyway?"

"Nothing."

"Liar. You were trying to climb that tree."

Elliott's quiet, looks down at his feet.

"I can help you. If you want."

"I don't need your help."

"I know. That's why I said if you want."

* * *

Santana spends the rest of the afternoon talking to Tina, until Sam comes to get her. Dark is starting to fall, everyone is leaving, and she realizes she hasn't seen Jaeger since they got here. Never the mom to lose her kid in a store, she feels a bit panicky. She not overprotective, but it's an occasional side effect of Jaeger being an only child.

Deciding the only place he can be is the Hudson forest, she walks into it, until she hears soft laughter wrapping around the tree trunks. Unmistakably her son's, she follows it until she comes to a clearing, where Jaeger is helping, without success, the boy she saw earlier climb up a tree. For all her son hates failing at anything, they both seem pretty amused by it now, laughing again and again as they collapse when Jaeger's hands give away under the boy's weight.

* * *

After the party is over and everyone is gone, Quinn heads into the yard. She hasn't seen Elliott all night, he must be in there, lurking around the branches, more grateful than ever for their forest. It's scary to think that he might take after her, but sometimes, it's one of her deepest fears. After all, the forest was her idea, it was her who had fallen in love with it upon sight, who loved it for the same reason her son did, because it allowed her to hide. Suddenly, she hears voices and they frighten her, not because she thinks someone is there with Elliott, but because she's afraid no one is.

"Elliott?", she calls out tentatively, voice breaking, until she feels a cold hand coiling around her upper arm and pulling her behind a tree.

"Shhh."

She inhales deeply and smells man's deodorant, but when she looks up, it's Santana, gesturing for her to be quiet. Quinn pulls away angrily, but then sees what Santana is pointing at. Elliott is smiling wide, and she's shocked by how unfamiliar the expression looks on his face. He is looking high up into the branches of a tree, where that blond, elf-like boy is balancing perilously. She glances at Santana, to see if she's worried, but she's just smiling as wide as Elliott. Something about the pleased expression on her face bothers Quinn, more so as the kid somersaults into the air and off the tree and lands upright on his feet.

"See. Now your turn."

Quinn wants to stop them, but Santana lays a hand on her shoulder and she stays put. Santana's kid makes a foothold with his hands and tries to bolster Elliott up to the nearest branch, and this time he almost manages to grasp it, but then his hand slips and they both tumble to the floor. Jaeger bounces back immediately, but it takes Elliott longer to recover, and when he gets up, there is blood running down his knee. Normally, he would be crying at this, Quinn thinks, but here, he seems to be holding back. Jaeger glances at his knee. "Man, you bruise quick. Sit."

"What?"

"Sit", Jaeger repeats as he nudges Elliott onto the floor, then disappears behind some trees and comes back with a handful of mud.

"What are you doing with that?" asks Elliott, fear creeping into his voice.

"Nothing," Jaeger answers as he applies a mud plaster onto Elliott's knee.

Quinn can see her son trying to hold it together, and hears Santana's soft laughter next to her.

"Mud has healing properties. It helps bring down swelling", Jaeger explains to Elliott calmly.

"Where did you hear that?"

"My mom told me. And I read it in a book."

"Is your mom a doctor?"

"No. But she knows a lot."

There is a smudge of dirt on Elliott's nose, and as Jaeger moves closer, reaching so he can wipe it, Elliott's eyes go wide and something goes off like an alarm in Quinn's head. She runs towards them and pulls her son away from Jaeger.

"Elliott, let's go."

Elliott looks dazed, but let's himself be dragged away, until Jaeger's voice echoes sure and strong. "It's just a scratch. He'll be fine."

Quinn fixes her eyes on him. "Yeah, no thanks to you. I'm going to have to take him to the doctor now, to make sure it doesn't get infected."

Santana finally comes out from behind the trees. "You didn't seem to mind when he was putting it on."

Jaeger turns to look at her. "Mom? What are you doing here?"

"Looking for you, actually. I've been looking for you for almost an hour, Jaeger. I was scared shitless."

"Were you spying on us?"

"No," Quinn says, at the same time Santana says "Yes."

Elliott turns to his mother. "Why?"

Quinn doesn't seem to be coming up with an answer, so Santana volunteers. "Because we thought it was cute, the way you guys were playing."

Jaeger wrinkles his nose in distaste as he looks up at Santana, who ruffles his hair. "Mom, tell Elliott's mom how mud works like a medicine."

Santana fixes her eyes into Quinn's. "I think she already knows that, sweetheart."

Quinn spins on her heel, dragging Elliott behind her. "Bye, Elliott", Jaeger calls out, and Elliott manages a half-wave.

Inside the house, Finn and Sam are sharing the last can of beer when Quinn and Elliott walk in.

"Hey, hon. Did you guys see Santana or Jaeger out there?"

Quinn glares at her husband, and, saying nothing more, disappears into the depths of the house, Elliott at her heels.

Back in the yard, Santana wonders if she should say something to Jaeger before they head back, something so he won't feel bad, but instead, it's him that turns to her, cool as ever, and smiling like he just figured something out.

"Now I know, mom."

"What?"

"Why you wanted to know about Daisy's eyes."


	7. Chapter 7

**Quinn, Finn and Sam are 36, Santana is two years older. **

**And as for my writing process... I'll usually figure out the beginning and the end of a story right away, and once it's in my head, random bits and pieces will come, so I write them down and by the time I have enough, I'll start putting them all together and filling in the blanks.**

**Thanks to all of you who are asking questions and leaving comments, it's awesome to think someone out there is reading what you write.**

* * *

Quinn never explains what happened at the party to Finn, which is unusual, he thinks, because he still believes his wife tells him everything. He considers asking Santana, but doesn't want to make a big deal about it. Elliott didn't seem like himself after the party either, but asking him about it proves to be a waste of Finn's time.

The morning after, when Finn is out running, Quinn is woken up by loud screams coming from Daisy's room. She barges inside and finds Daisy on the floor, crying, while Elliott, sitting cross-legged in front of her, watches her with disgust.

"What happened?"

"Nothing."

"Elliott, what did you do to her?"

Daisy points at an Easy-Bake oven on the floor. "He won't let me play."

"She's the one who won't share."

"Elliott, that was your sister's birthday gift." Quinn glances around the room and her eyes land on a half-assembled dinosaur model. "Why don't you play with that instead?"

"That's mine, too," Daisy pipes up.

Quinn raises an eyebrow. "Really? Who gave it to you?"

"A boy."

"What boy?"

"His name's Jaeger."

Quinn rolls her eyes. "I should have known. Anyway, Elliott, you can play with Daisy's dinosaur model and let her play with the oven."

Elliott scrunches up his nose. "Why would I want to play with that? It's boring."

"No, it ishn't. It's fun. I'm 'most done."

"I want to play with the oven."

"And I already explained to you-"

"Daisy always gets everything."

"That's not true."

"She had a party, and now she has all these toys and she's being a brat!"

"Elliott-"

"I hate Daisy", he yells as he gets up and kicks Daisy's dinosaur model. "I hate Daisy, and I hate her party, and I hate you and-"

"Go to your room this instant!"

He runs out the room and Quinn hears the door to his own slam shut.

* * *

That afternoon, when she's walking to ballet class with Daisy, a car stops alongside them. Quinn glances at the driver. Sam Evans, offering them a ride so cheerfully that she can't refuse. She straps Daisy onto the child seat in the back, shocked that Jaeger still uses one when Elliott stopped ages ago. She climbs into the front seat, next to Sam, and tries to think of something to say. Usually she's the queen of small talk, but lately she hasn't been feeling up to it. It's Sam who breaks the silence.

"Quinn... the other day at the party, was Santana rude to you in any way?"

She's taken aback, but can't bring herself to lie. "No."

"It's just... I saw you came back running, and I thought something might have happened."

"No, I just... wasn't feeling well."

"I know Santana can be a little... difficult, but I'd appreciate if you guys gave her a chance."

"Finn's taken to her. He thinks she's smart."

"Yeah. That's the problem with her."

"I didn't realize that was a problem," Quinn says innocently.

"It is in her case. She's... restless. Her mind is restless."

Quinn, always one to solve other people's troubles, drums her fingers on the dashboard. "You could tell her to join the women's book club. They meet at the community center once a month. Some of our friends are in it."

Sam lets out a guffaw, tries to cover it with a cough. "I'm sorry, I just... don't think that's gonna cut it."

"Oh, she's too good for a book club now?

"It's not that. See, Santana is... was, a biochemist. She was doing research for the University of Chicago when we met. I was a senior, and she was already working on her Ph. D." He says it without a hint of pride, and Quinn thinks it must be true, because he is so completely objective.

"She's older than you?"

Sam smiles in spite of himself. "She doesn't look it, does she?"

Quinn shakes her head.

"So, you see why I think book club might not be... stimulating enough for her?"

Quinn nods, admitting defeat. "Why doesn't she just... get a job?"

"There's nothing for her out here. She needs to be in a big city, so she can do her research. And she hasn't worked since Jaeger was born. We wanted at least one of us to stay home and take care of him."

"And it turned out to be her."

"We were gonna take turns, but then my career took off. I couldn't just quit. She has her whole life to do research, but my body's running against the clock. I can't be an athlete forever."

There is dead silence inside the car, and, finally, Quinn thinks of something to say. "Well, she seems to have made friends with Tina Cohen-Chang, and she's not too smart."

"I think she's just doing that to piss me off."

"You don't like Tina? Why?"

Sam turns to look at her, his eyes level with hers. "I don't know, Quinn. You tell me."

Quinn laughs lightly. "You're not too stupid yourself, Sam."

* * *

After ballet class, Daisy and Quinn wait for her classmates to get picked up. There is a couple of them left, all playing on the floor with Daisy. Quinn hears her daughter's breathy voice rise over the rest.

"Em'ly, can I borrow your pink pony?"

Emily, an agreeable child, hands over her pink pony, which Quinn is surprised to see, is none as grand as the one her father gave Daisy for her birthday a couple of days ago.

"Daisy, baby, where's your pony?"

"What pony, mamma?"

"The one grandpa Russel gave you."

"Oh, Elliott has it," Daisy pipes cheerfully.

"What?"

"Elliott has all my ponies. I let him borrow them."

"When?"

"I don't know, mommy."

Stupid question, Quinn thinks. Daisy has no notion of time. "Well, where are they?"

Daisy shrugs. "In his room, I guess."

* * *

The first thing Quinn does when they get home is head straight to Elliott's room. She finds him laying on his bed, staring at the ceiling. "What are you doing here?"

"Daisy says you have her little ponies."

"She's lying."

The response is quick, immediate enough for Quinn to know it's her son who's lying. "Elliott, please tell me the truth."

"Am I going to get in trouble?"

Quinn wants to say no, but honestly, she's not sure. "Elliott..."

"I don't have them."

She didn't know, that children could be so frustrating, not until she had her own. She tries to keep the anger off her voice.

"Let me have them, please."

But Elliott just flips over on the bed and buries his face into his pillows.

"Elliott?"

She receives no answer from her son.

"Elliott?"

"I told you I don't have them," he yells.

Infuriated, Quinn begins opening the drawers to his dresser, tossing everything out. Finn always tells her that she has to be better at keeping her cool, because she regrets not doing so afterward, but in the heat of the moment it seems like more than she can manage, and she wonders if it's even in her at all, being able to keep her temper.

Elliott sits up when he realizes what she's doing, and just stares at her, mildly fearful as she goes through all of his things, tossing clothes out of his closet and toys out of their baskets until there is nowhere left to look but under his bed, and if he thought she wasn't gonna do it, she does, crawling on all fours until she finds what she's looking for, a set of ponies all colors of the rainbow under his bed, carefully arranged and sporting various hairstyles.

"I thought you said you didn't have them."

"I don't know how they got there."

"Elliott-"

"Daisy must have done it."

Quinn takes a deep breath. "I don't want you going into your sister's room again, do you hear me?"

"Why not?"

"And I don't want to see you playing with her toys anymore. You have your own."

"Take them. I don't want them."

"Yeah, well, I don't want them either."

"Give them to Daisy, then."

"What would Daisy want with a bunch of cars?"

"The same thing I want with her ponies, mommy. To play."

That stops Quinn on her tracks. "Elliott, there are toys that are not appropriate-"

"I know, mommy. You explained that already."

Quinn sighs, already regretting the mess in the room. Her son looks around, too. "Do I have to clean up?"

She shakes her head. "I'll tell Millie to do it."

Elliott jumps off his bed and throws his arms around her. "I'm sorry."

Quinn hugs him back. "No, I'm sorry, Elliott. I'm sorry I made such a mess."

* * *

The incident with Elliott becomes something else she doesn't tell Finn about, partly because she's ashamed of the way she lost her temper, partly because she can't process everything that happened, and she knows she will have to, in order to tell Finn.

Instead, at night, when they're in bed, Finn watching the news and Quinn reading a gossip magazine, she brings up Santana.

"Did you know that Santana Evans was some sort of big-shot scientist?"

Finn keeps his eyes glued to the screen. "Yeah."

"How come you never told me?"

"I' forgot. Sam doesn't really talk about it."

"He doesn't like it, does he?"

"I don't think so. It was all she did when we were in college. Study. Sam said she was antisocial. She never went to parties or anything."

"Why would he marry someone like that?"

"Well, have you seen her?"

"I thought you said she wasn't your type."

"That doesn't mean she's not good-looking, Quinn. She was a model when she met Sam."

Quinn looks surprised. "Really? She seems too stuck up to want to be a model."

Finn shrugs. "I don't think she needed the money, you know her family's... well, I don't know. She has some sort of torrid childhood history, from what Sam told me."

* * *

Most things come easily to Santana. One of these is working out. She's the kind of person people stop and stare at the gym, the kind that makes others jealous. She's better than most men, faster and more flexible, if not stronger. When she gets on the treadmill, the room looks like it's stopped moving, each foot hitting the ground with graceful certainty. Quinn can't help but stare the first time she sees her on it, until she realizes it's Santana she's looking at and forces herself to glance away quickly.

She seems to be on every apparatus, flitting from one to the next in a matter of seconds, and is equally proficient at each one she tries. There are so many mirrors that Quinn has an easy time keeping track of her without Santana ever noticing. There is something on Santana's mind too, and when Quinn finally gets off her elliptical, she follows her into the locker room.

"Hey."

Quinn turns around and looks at her coolly.

"What was that at the party the other day?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"I didn't like the way you talked to my son."

"Your son should learn to mind his own business."

"He's a kid, kids never mind their own business."

"Mine do."

"If they're anything like you, I doubt it."

"I don't know what you mean."

"You've been staring at me ever since I came in."

Quinn flushes a bright red. "Why would I be staring at you?"

Santana shrugs. "Believe me, I have no idea. But that's beside the point. I just want you to leave my kid alone."

"Then tell him to stay away from my son."

Santana nods, but she can see the futility in this. She could never, ever see herself telling Jaeger to stay away from someone like Elliott, the way she could never tell him to stay away from a wounded animal. And even if she did, he would never do it, Jaeger makes his own rules, and they're almost always sensible. She had known, almost right away, that her son would be a doctor, even if he didn't know it yet. She didn't want to put any ideas into his head, but, at the same time, there wasn't an open wound that could keep Jaeger away.

* * *

"Mom, I wanna start ballet again."

He brings it up one night at dinner. Sam frowns, but Santana thinks it might be just the distraction he needs.

"Yeah?"

"Uh-huh. But there's no ballet at St. Paul's."

One thing about her child is, he doesn't wait for anyone to solve his problems, so Santana knows he'll have an answer to this one, all ready.

"Uh-huh, and?"

"I asked around and there's a class at the community center."

"For kids your age?"

"Yeah. From three to twelve years old."

Sam clears his throat a little, trying to put this into words that won't upset his son. "Are you sure that's boys and girls three to twelve?

"No, but we can always go and ask."

Sam doesn't volunteer, so Santana does. "We can go tomorrow if you-"

"No. I'm taking him to visit my mother, remember?"

"Oh. That's right. Well, I'll go check it out myself, Jaeger."

Sam glares at her, but her son grins. "Thanks, mom."

* * *

Sometimes, after class, Quinn stays a little while longer, just to dance. She lets Daisy watch her, even lets her pick the songs sometimes, but not tonight. Tonight she knows exactly what she wants, to play, to pretend, in the only stage she has. So she dims the lights and makes Daisy sit in a corner and watch, so quietly that Quinn will be able to imagine she's not there, that she never was, and that she got to do what she wanted to do at twenty, be music and not a mother.

She never gets enough of dancing and it scares her; when it takes over it hurts to go back to real life, so she allows herself to get carried away very few times. Tonight is one.

Daisy doesn't recognize her then, when Quinn ceases to be her mother and becomes just a stranger who dances with a boundless passion that Daisy doesn't understand and in which she's not interested. She grabs one of the balls they used for class and sneaks it into her corner without need, Quinn wouldn't have noticed anyway, and begins toying with it as her mother leaps across the room like a dolphin, so thrilled to be in the air and grateful to land safely in water. Quinn knows she will always land on her feet with a certainty that doesn't permeate anything else in her life, her love for this has been her only constant since the age of five.

* * *

The parking lot to the center is empty, but there is a light glowing from inside. It's enough for Santana; she parks her truck and walks in. It's eerie, it reminds her of being picked up late from school when she was a child, knowing there was no one else in the building but her. But she follows the light and soon hears music, faint, and steps, determined. There is a half-open door and she doesn't even think about it for a second; without opening it, she peeks inside.

There is a woman, dancing, and a child in a pale yellow tutu, watching until she gets bored. Santana feels, for a moment, like she's looking through her microscope; Quinn's body in movement looks blurry, but reflected in the mirror, it's clear. At first her fascination is a measured, calculated observation, until it becomes clear that for Quinn there is no choreography, and Santana doesn't think she's ever seen anything so perfect that followed no rules.

She sighs and immediately regrets it. It wasn't loud, but Daisy's heard it. With a sweet smile, she rolls the ball across the floor to her. It stops at her feet, a request. Santana puts a finger to her lips, but the slight movement catches Quinn's eye. She looks up at the reflection on the mirror and bores her eyes into hers. Santana wants to somehow convey to Quinn that she doesn't have to stop, but Quinn seems to know this; she's is still moving, still dancing, only her eyes won't leave Santana's in the mirror. She feels a blush crawling up her cheeks when she realizes Daisy's watching them, wants to look away but can't, because Quinn won't let her, until the song, which has contained a minute universe within it, comes to an end. Quinn tears her eyes from hers then, quickly slips off her ballet slippers and throws on a large sweatshirt that once belonged to Finn. She gathers her stuff silently, and finally picks up Daisy with both arms and heads to the door.

"Can I help you?"

"I... wanted to ask about the ballet classes. I didn't... I didn't know you were the teacher."

It had crossed her mind, though, that she might be here, because Finn had mentioned it, but she never thought-

"Otherwise you wouldn't have come?"

"I didn't say that."

"Are the classes for you?"

"No."

Quinn wonders, but doesn't ask. "Well, the secretary's here from 9 to 5, if you want to stop by tomorrow."

"Can't you tell me about it?"

"I'm afraid I can't."

Quinn slips past her, and on her way out, their hips brush together for a second. It's all it takes for Santana to know.


	8. Chapter 8

**OK, it took a while, but finally here's the update. Thanks for waiting. Congrats to the person who guessed they were going to go watch one of the football games next. Oh, and also, the reason I made Santana older was that she's supposed to have gone much further in her schooling than any of the other characters, so she had to be slightly older for the timeline to make any sense, at least in my head.**

* * *

Santana signs up Jaeger for ballet while he's in school the next morning, at a time she knows Quinn won't be around. She doesn't know if she's imagining it, but she feels the secretary give her a disapproving look when she finds out Jaeger is a boy, and while she can't exactly stop him from joining the class, she warns Santana he will be the only boy amongst girls. Santana shrugs it off. Jaeger won't care, and she knows any animosity toward her son will dissipate once they realize how talented he is.

He will begin class that afternoon. Santana doesn't want him to start off on the wrong foot, the way she knows he will if she runs into Quinn. It is at times like these she wishes they had a maid or a nanny, but, after all, her son isn't fatherless, she thinks. She's just gonna have to suck it up and ask Sam to take him, and he won't be able to say no, no matter how much he hates it, because he can never say no to Jaeger.

* * *

It's ridiculous how often Sam feels like Santana does stuff with the sole purpose of upsetting him. He's convinced ballet is one of those things, because he can't for the life of him think where Jaeger would have gotten that idea, though he's never asked him. It's not exactly like he can say no to him doing it, because he doesn't have a real reason. The tried and true _but it's for girls_ is not going to work on his son, he's too intelligent. Sam himself doesn't feel very comfortable with that reasoning, he knows it makes no sense, yet he's still a firm believer.

He's also never been the kind of parent who tells his kid what to do, he wants Jaeger to see him as a friend, not some cop patrolling his life. And, as far as he understands, the kid is talented. The last thing he wants is to keep him from developing his talents, it's just that he doesn't understand why Jaeger, who could be good at anything he chose, would choose this.

So, here he is, driving his son to ballet class one afternoon, the kid bouncing off the seat with excitement. It's not fair, how Santana had tricked him into it, by asking in front of Jaeger. His son had looked so hopeful that Sam had just nodded, but wondered why Santana wasn't taking him herself. She always insisted on being there for every little part of Jaeger's life, and it was unlike her to miss something like this. Jaeger had assumed it was an attempt to bring them closer together, to let them bond over ballet, but Sam was suspicious. Santana had never given any indication of wanting to share Jaeger's love with him.

As soon as he parks the car, Jaeger jumps out and races into the building. Sam has to jog to keep up, and catches sight of his son's blond mop of hair as he runs into a room, as if he had known, all along, where to go. He stops just outside the door and asks himself if he really wants to do this. He knows what he will see, eight or ten girls in pink tutus and his son, like the ugly duckling among them. He decides he doesn't have the heart when he hears a voice calling out his name.

"Sam?" Shit. Someone's seen him here, and know they will know, everybody will know.

Quinn Hudson, in tights and leg warmers, smiles at him. "Do you wanna watch the class?"

"Uh, no, I don't think so... wait. You're...?"

"Yeah. Your wife didn't tell you?"

"No. It must have slipped her mind."

But it makes sense now, why Santana didn't want to bring Jaeger. She wanted to stay out of his way.

Inside, Jaeger has already changed into his ballet shoes. Sam cringes. "Jaeger, come here a minute."

He takes a leap that lands him right between Quinn and Sam.

"Quinn, this is my son Jaeger, I don't think you guys have been formally introduced."

Quinn extends her hand out and Jaeger takes it. "We already know each other, Dad."

"You do?"

"Yeah. From the party," says Jaeger, keeping his eyes on Quinn. She can't believe he remembers, and blushes a little under his gaze. "So, you're the teacher?"

"Yeah."

"Mom didn't mention it."

"Maybe she thought you wouldn't want to come if you knew."

Jaeger makes a face. "I don't care if it's you. I just wanna dance."

"So... you like ballet?"

If she's trying to embarrass him, it doesn't work. He just nods, glancing with impatience at the girls who have already started warming up. Quinn can't pretend she wholeheartedly approves and turns to Sam. "I've never taught a boy before. We'll see how it goes."

"Your son doesn't like ballet?" Jaeger asks.

Quinn's response is immediate and cutting. "No, of course not."

But, honestly, she doesn't know. Maybe, if given the opportunity, he might, but then she remembers him screaming about how much he hated it the other day. It had stung, no doubt about it. "I think he's probably a little fed up with it, since I do it, and his sister's obsessed with it."

"Daisy?"

"Yeah," says Quinn, reluctantly impressed. "You're good with names."

"My mom says my memory's prodigious."

"Daisy remembers you as well. Apparently you made quite an impression."

Sam laughs. "He did?"

"Yeah. His birthday gift was rather... remarkable." And no wonder, she thinks, if it came from a boy who likes ballet.

Sam misses the irony in her voice and smiles proudly. The girls are beginning to get restless, and Quinn smiles back at Sam. "Well, you're welcome to stay and watch the class if you want."

But Sam shakes his head. He's never seen Jaeger do ballet, and he's not about to start now. "Thanks. I'll wait outside."

* * *

Jaeger is unteachable, and for the first time in her life, she's grateful for Elliott. Everyone always told her she got off easy, having a boy that behaved like a girl, but she'd never found it anything but shameful. Now, she's beginning to get an idea of what they meant, and she's not liking it.

"Jaeger, please, try to follow what I'm doing-"

But he's not having it, he's doing his own thing, bouncing off the walls, and she can't really blame him. He's good, easily the best she's taught. His talent is effortless, he never looks like he's trying particularly hard. She remembers all those arduous hours of work she put into ballet as a child, and suddenly it doesn't seem fair.

If she liked Santana, or even just Jaeger, she would move him up to class with the teenagers. Instead, she spends the rest of the class trying to reign him in, though only half-heartedly, because she so seldom gets a show, and he's good to watch. He makes the rest of her students look awkward and frail, and she realizes that she's never enjoyed watching one of them dance, because there's always things to fix and correct, but Jaeger doesn't need to be taught. She has to try very hard to keep holding a grudge against someone who shares her only passion in life, and is in fact sure that if she could watch herself dance, she'd look much like Jaeger.

It is such a case of mixed feelings that it gives her a headache and a heartache, and in the end she says nothing to Sam of his talent, but instead just tells him to talk to Jaeger about his behavior in class.

* * *

Jaeger thinks that the fact that he's taking class with Elliott's mom entitles him to talk to the kid who talks to no one. Elliott hasn't seemed all that inclined to talk after the incident at Daisy's party, but Jaeger's caught him sneaking looks at him during class, so he figures he's got nothing to lose. He approaches him one day during recess, where Elliott is, as usual, sitting alone on one of the playground benches.

"How's your knee?"

Elliott looks up from the notebook he was pouring over, so surprised he almost drops it. He doesn't answer, and Jaeger glances at his knee.

"Oh, it's almost healed up," he says brightly. "See, I told you the mud would help."

Elliott still doesn't say anything. Jaeger sits on the ground at his feet. "Your mom take you to the doctor?"

"No. She hates doctors."

"Oh. Why?"

He shrugs. Jaeger glances at the notebook on his lap. "What's that?"

Elliott immediately tries to cover it up. "Nothing."

"You're doing homework during recess?"

"It's not homework."

"Then?"

"I'm drawing."

Jaeger frowns. "Drawing what?"

"Just things."

"So you can actually draw?"

"What do you mean? Everybody can draw."

"Nah. I can't draw for shit, and I'm good at everything."

Elliott looks at Jaeger, a little alarmed. He's never heard anyone his age use curse words before, not even his parents do. Jaeger seems to notice and bites his lip with a little grin. "Sorry. I forget not everyone... my mom does it all the time."

"She does?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

Jaeger shrugs. "It's a habit. She says no one's ever given her a good reason not to."

"So you don't get in trouble if you...?"

"As long as I'm smart enough not to get caught during school."

"Well, I won't tell."

Jaeger smiles. "Thanks. So, can you show me your drawings?"

Elliott reluctantly relaxes his hold. Jaeger takes the notebook from him and begins looking. Elliott's sketches seem familiar, though he's not sure why. They're miniature and detailed drawings of everything one could imagine; bugs, leaves, litter, even a pair of hands. "Whose are those?"

"My sister's. She poses for me sometimes."

"Daisy?" asks Jaeger, surprised a three-year old could stay so still.

"No, Willow. The older one."

"Oh. That's nice of her."

"Yeah. She's the only one who knows I draw. She buys me pencils and stuff."

"Now I know, too."

"Yeah. I guess you do."

Jaeger leafs through the sheets, stopping at the sight of a meticulously drawn butterfly. Something crosses his face. "Hey, if I show you a picture of something, do you think you could draw it for me?"

"Yeah, sure."

Jaeger smiles and gets up. "Cool. I'll see you around, then."

* * *

"We're flying out to Denver."

"What?"

"For the holidays. I'm playing a game there, and all of us are going."

"What do you mean by all of us?"

"I mean, you, me, Jaeger, and the rest of the team's families."

"You're not serious."

"Yeah. I am."

"So this is like a joint vacation or something?"

"Something like that. We got the hotel booked and everything, so we can all stay together."

"You booked the hotel without even asking me? What if I couldn't go?"

There is no real reason she can't, only that the thought of leaving her (Jaeger's) microscope for even one day pains her.

"Why, because you have so much stuff to do, Santana?"

It's your fault that I don't, she thinks, but bites her tongue, because it's not true. She does have something to do now, and it's giving her life new colors.

"How long are we staying?"

"Ten days."

"Have you told Jaeger?"

"Yes. He's very excited. I hope you're not planning to ruin that for him."

"You must not know me at all if you think," she starts, but stops mid-sentence, realizing it's useless. "If Jaeger wants to go, if he's happy to go, then I'm happy to go with you."

* * *

She buys herself a pair of noise-cancelling headphones for the flight. Sam glares at her when she puts them on, but Jaeger laughs like he just heard a really good joke. Sam thinks she's doing it because she doesn't want to socialize, but the thing only her and Jaeger know is that she's afraid of flying.

On the other side of the plane, Willow is wearing noise-cancelling headphones, too, to stop herself from having to listen to the hissy-fit her mother throws every time they get on a plane. Only this time, Quinn is keeping herself unusually calm, mostly because she can see Santana across the aisle and doesn't want to call attention to herself, even though Santana is wearing headphones and her eyes are shut, head tilted back into the seat. She fell asleep that quickly?, Quinn wonders, jealous. Sam catches her looking and flashes her a thumbs-up, which Quinn answers with a tight smile. She drank a whole bunch of wine to calm her nerves, and now has to use the bathroom badly. Normally, she would ask Finn to go with her, she never goes alone in the plane, but Daisy is sleeping strewn across his lap, and she has to leap over both of them to get to the aisle. Finn shoots her a quizzical look, but she shakes her head.

In the bathroom, she buttons up her skirt, bumping against the walls, and not falling over only because the space is too small. She takes a deep breath and splashes some water on her face. When she feels ready to go back to her seat, she tries the door handle, to no avail. Then she remembers why Finn always has to escort her to these bathrooms. She can never get the door open on her own.

* * *

It's all going fine until Sam orders pancakes. He cooks them every morning at home, and the smell of them now, after so many years, makes her sick. She's never told him, because she feels it would make her look weak, and the last thing she needs is to look weak in front of this man who already overpowers her. But she's sure he must know by now, Jaeger figured it out without needing to be told and he's only seven. He glances at Santana in alarm when the flight attendant sets Sam's plate on his tray. Santana wills herself not to open her eyes, thinking the sight of the food will only make her dizzier. She tries breathing in through her mouth, but it only makes her feel like she's actually eating the pancakes, and she gags a little. She needs to get away, before this becomes full-blown nausea.

She has the aisle seat; Sam wanted the window and Jaeger always sits between them, so she can make her exit quickly, she isn't even sure if Sam notices. She tries the door to the bathroom but finds it locked, and, glancing at the little sign on the front of the plane, confirms that there's someone in there. Then she hears it, a faint cry for help. Not sure she didn't imagine it, she presses an ear to the bathroom door.

"You all right in there?"

"No," says a small voice she can't place. A woman. "I can't get out."

"All right. Let me call the flight attendant, OK?"

"If I wanted her to come, I would have pressed the call button."

"So why haven't you?"

"I don't want to cause a scene."

It's hard to feel sorry for whoever this is. She suspects it might be Tina, it's be just like her to be concerned about something like this, but then spots her a couple seats away, alone with her daughter. Her husband is sitting near the front of the plane, with his buddies. Tina waves and Santana waves back, feigning a calm she's too irritated to feel. "Look, I really think it would be best if we just-"

But she hears heavy breathing on the other side of the door. "What's wrong?"

"I think I'm having a panic attack."

"OK, I definitely need to go call the flight attendant now-"

"Please don't leave."

Santana hesitates. "Well, press the call button, then."

"No."

"You're not really having a panic attack, are you?"

"I don't know."

The plane lurches and Santana feels a wave of nausea hit her. She groans.

"What is it?" asks the voice.

"I'm about to puke my fucking guts out, that's what."

A giggle comes from behind the door.

"I fail to see how that's funny. Unless you're, like, five."

"It's funny because flying makes me nauseous, too."

There is a pause, and Santana sighs.

"What?"

"I can't believe this is happening?"

"What's_ this_?"

"That I'm standing in the back of a plane having a conversation with a total stranger."

"We're not total strangers. I mean, we have something in common."

"What, that we both hate planes?"

"I never said I hated them."

"So you don't?"

"No, I do. Well, I mean, I don't like flying. I try to avoid it. That's probably why I'm so scared of it, I'm sure if I did it more often-"

"Nah. I used to fly all the time when I was a child and it never made any difference. If anything, I think that's why I hate it."

"Why did you fly all the time?"

"My parents traveled a lot."

Quinn can think of several people who would fit that description. "We probably know each other, you know."

"I don't think so. At first I thought you were my friend Tina, but I can see her from here."

Quinn goes silent all of sudden.

"Are you all right?"

She receives no answer, but then turns around and sees Jaeger making his way down the plane, closely followed by Finn.

"Great."

"What?"

"There's people coming."

Jaeger reaches her first, frowning. "What are you doing?"

"Waiting for the bathroom. A lady got locked inside and she can't-"

But then Finn gets there and looks around. "Quinn?" He turns to them. "Have you guys seen my wife? She came to the bathroom like twenty minutes ago."

"Shit," Santana says loudly.

"What?"

"I think she's locked inside."

"Quinn?" Finn says as he knocks on the door. He hears no reply, and kicks the door in easily. Quinn steps out, smoothing down her hair and clothes, trying to look calm.

"What happened?," Finn asks, visibly worried. "You OK?"

"I'm fine," she says waving a hand in the air carelessly, in perfect imitation of her mother. Her eyes meet Santana's and she shrugs. "Told you we knew each other," she says before walking back toward her seat, Finn at her heels.


	9. Chapter 9

**OK, I managed to finish this one with a few minutes to spare. Thanks everyone again for reading and for your reviews. As for Quinn, I can't promise she's going to change much, because a large part of this story hinges on her not being well. When I started writing this story, her character, to me, was one of the most relatable, because I felt like her pain was very palpable and raw. It's funny to see other people don't see her this way at all. **

* * *

The morning before the game, Quinn's a nervous wreck. She hasn't been to one of these in a while, and this is exactly why. She feels as if the pressure wasn't on Finn, but rather on her, to prove why this all-star player chose her and not another girl. At home, she's invisible, but here, it's all fair game, and people are curious about her; she's seen a couple of pictures of herself posted online. The thought hasn't allowed her to sleep at all; she hasn't been awake this early in years. The kids are still sleeping, all three of them tangled on the bed they're sharing.

There is a knock on the door and she frowns. Finn can't be back yet. She almost doesn't open, but then remembers the door has a peephole and looks through it. It's a delivery man, holding a huge bouquet of roses on one hand and a large glass vase on the other. She opens the door with a smile; Finn knows it's a tough day for her, and he always tries to make her feel better. She tips the delivery man with a twenty and tries to fill the vase with water as quietly as possible. Her husband thinks of everything.

She's on this train of thought when the vase slips from her grasp and shatters against the floor. She tries to go get something to clean up the mess, but slips and steps on one of the pieces. Blood immediately begins gushing from her foot, mixing with the water and turning everything into a flood of red. She winces and peeks outside, to see if the children have woken up, but they're still fast asleep. There is another knock on the door, and hoping this time it's Finn, she hops on one foot to open it.

She finds herself face to face with Sam, who looks at her with a concerned frown.

"Everything all right? I'm right next door and I heard a crash."

"It fell."

"What fell?"

"Finn bought me a vase and some flowers, and the vase fell and broke."

He glances at her foot. "And you hurt yourself. May I?"

Quinn nods as Sam crouches down and examines the cut. "Well, I'm no doctor, but I know about injuries. You might need stitches."

"No way. I've never had stitches in my life. And I hate hospitals."

"I'm sure we can call the team doctor and have him come here."

Quinn glances at her children, still in bed.

"We can do it in my room, if you want. Jaeger's downstairs having breakfast."

"And your wife?"

"She always goes running in the mornings."

"Yeah, Finn too." She pauses. "I should probably call him."

"But?"

"But I don't want to interrupt him. Not today."

They look at each other, and finally, Quinn nods reluctantly. She doesn't expect it, but Sam sweeps her up in his arms, shuts the door, and carries her to his room. He sets her gently on the bed and proceeds to make some calls. Quinn looks around the room, which is very neat compared to their messy one. She examines a half-open drawer that appears to contain lingerie and toiletries that must belong to Santana, embarrassed by her own curiosity. She fidgets a little and Sam hangs up, reassuring her the doctor will be right over. "So, never had any stitches, huh?"

"Nope. Or a broken bone. Worst thing that's happened to me is having my children." But she pauses, because it's not true. "I didn't mean-"

Sam laughs. "I know you didn't. I'm sure you must be a really good mom."

Quinn sighs. "I try. But I'm glad someone thinks so, at any rate."

He nods. "I do. And don't worry about the stitches. I've had thousands, and I'm still here."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Things are never as painful as you think they're gonna be."

They make small talk until the doctor arrives and confirms what they suspected. Quinn sighs and shuts her eyes as he gets everything ready, the smell of alcohol bringing back all sorts of things she doesn't want to remember. Her breath hitches a little when she feels the doctor's hands on her foot, but immediately, she feels another hand, warm and strong, holding onto her own, steadying her. She jumps when the doctor starts stitching and feels Sam's hand squeezing hers, and feels so grateful, she wants to cry. She squeezes back, and he was right. It really isn't so bad after all.

* * *

The crowd roars as Finn goes out into the field, and Quinn wishes she could stand up to get a better view, but she's been ordered not to move by Finn, who has gotten a thrill out of carrying her around the whole day. He even carried her to her seat minutes before he had to be out on the field, to the utter delight of his fans, and has promised to be back for her as soon as the game is over.

Not being able to move, however, means that she has no say in where she sits, which ends up being next to the aisle, behind the front row seats of Willow and Daisy and next to Elliott, who's afraid of being too close to the field. Santana is sitting on the other side of Elliott, and Quinn can hear her clicking her tongue impatiently.

"Come on, Sam, seriously? Not even I would have missed that pass, you fucking-"

"Mom."

Santana winces at her Jaeger's hand on her thigh. "Sorry."

Elliott is growing increasingly bored, to Jaeger's perplexity. He finds football fascinating, his dad is his hero in spite of his many shortcomings as a player, and it's odd to see Elliott's isn't. He stretches his leg across Santana's seat and prods Elliott with his foot.

"You can't fall asleep, man. Your dad's killing it."

"Is he?"

"Yeah, can't you tell?"

"I don't know anything about football."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

Elliott shrugs. "Not something they teach you at school, is it?"

"No, but haven't your parents-"

"Oh, yeah. Tons of times. I just never understand."

Jaeger practically clambers over Santana's seat with the excitement it brings him explaining new things to people. His mouth and hands are moving a mile a minute, and Elliott finds himself actually listening.

Quinn tries to ignore their conversation, but Santana, caught in the middle, glances back and forth between them. "You guys want me to move or something?"

"Yeah, mom, if you can, that'd be great."

Jaeger makes a move to get up, but Santana shakes her head and switches seats with Elliott instead. She feels Quinn stiffen immediately, and when their arms brush together on the arm rest, Quinn moves hers away quickly. The kids continue talking, and Santana turns to Quinn.

"So, I guess we figured out we can actually have a civilized conversation."

"The only reason it was civilized was that we didn't know we were talking to each other."

"What happened to your foot?"

"I stepped on broken glass."

"I guess that explains the blood on my bedsheets."

Quinn blushes. "I didn't-"

"It's fine. I know Sam likes playing the hero."

"He's a gentleman."

Santana shrugs. "If you say so. I take he never suggested putting mud on your wound?"

"No. Of course not."

"Would you have let him if he had?"

"Why are you asking me these questions?"

"Am I making you uncomfortable?"

"Frankly, yes."

Santana grins wickedly. "Oh, I'm sorry. But, see, now you have to put up with me."

"No, I don't."

"Yes, you do. Because you owe Sam."

Quinn bites her lip.

"I suppose you must think of me like the way you think of Tina Cohen-Chang. That he's too good for me."

"Who told you that?"

"Tina herself. But it's not hard to see it. Why would he choose me, right?"

"I never said-"

"You didn't have to."

"Fine, yeah, I don't see what he sees in you."

"And I, on the other hand, see exactly what Finn sees in you."

"Of course you do. I'm pretty, I'm a good wife, I'm a good mother-"

"Yeah. But it's what he doesn't see that makes you who you are."

"And what would you know about that?"

"Has he ever seen you dance?"

"Of course he has. We dance together all the time."

"No. Like the other day. Has he ever seen you dance like that?"

Quinn stays silent.

"Or maybe a better question would be, have you ever let him see you dance like that?"

Quinn looks away, off in to the field, trying, half-heartedly, to spot her husband amidst the moving bodies. Next to them, Elliott and Jaeger are so absorbed in their conversation that they haven't noticed their mothers have started one of their own.

"So, I'll take that as a no. But, why?"

"I don't see how that's any of your business."

"Ah, she speaks."

"That I don't want to talk to you doesn't mean I don't speak."

"Ouch."

Quinn turns to face her straight on, this time. "What is wrong with you? It's like you've been determined to annoy me since the day we met."

"It's nothing personal, that's just how I am."

"No, I think it is something personal, I don't see you acting toward anybody the way you act-"

"Of course, you think you're so fucking special-"

"Elliott," Quinn interrupts sharply, having had enough of this. "Please switch seats with Mrs. Evans and come back-"

"It's fine," says Santana, already getting up. "Jaeger, move." She takes her son's seat and Elliott moves over until he's sitting next to his mother again. With both boys in between them, Santana turns her attention back to the field. She can hear Elliott's voice still yapping away, unaware of what just happened, but she can also feel Jaeger's eyes on her.

* * *

Everyone's at the hotel pool. Everyone except for Elliott, who dislikes any kind of physical activity, and, even worse, getting sunburned. Jaeger, who is playing water-polo with some friends, jumps out of the pool as soon as he spots Elliott sitting down under a large umbrella.

"You busy?"

Elliott frowns at the sketch he's working on, a bonefish. "Not really."

Jaeger sits down next to him, water from his hair dripping onto the sketchbook, making the ink run.

"Shit, I'm sorry."

Elliott shakes his head. "It's fine. It wasn't coming out right anyway."

"You know that thing I asked you to draw for me?"

"Yeah?"

"Can you do it now?"

"But... I don't have any extra paper."

"We can go up to my room. I have a key."

* * *

The room is cold. The Evans' obviously believe in keeping it that way, because the AC is on and the lights are off and the curtains are drawn shut even though no one is inside. Jaeger turns it off and opens the windows a little, to let the warm air in.

He grabs a book from the bedside drawer. For a moment, Elliott thinks it's going to be the Bible, because, who brings books on a vacation? His parents certainly don't, but he's surprised to see a few strewn around the Evans' room.

Jaeger sits down on the bed, gesturing for Elliott to sit beside him. He does, watching silently as Jaeger flips through the book, until he finds the page he was looking for.

"Here. This is it."

Elliott studies the picture. It's of an odd-looking beetle with an intricate brown design on its back. "OK. Gimme the paper."

"I don't want you to draw it on paper. I want you to draw it on me."

Elliott looks afraid, suddenly. "Why?"

"So it'll be like a tattoo."

"Won't you get in trouble?"

Jaeger scoffs. "Of course not."

"But... I don't have any pens, all I have are my pencils, and-"

Jaeger gets up and pulls out a set of permanent markers from his suitcase. "Here," he says, handing them to him. "You can keep them when you're done."

Elliott inhales, like he can't believe he's really about to do this. "Where do you want it?"

Jaeger stretches out his forearm. His skin is warm from being out in the sun, and Elliott's fingers feel frozen in turn. He uncaps a marker and drops the top. Jaeger bends over to pick it up, then stretches his arm out again. Elliott places the tip of the marker to his skin, hand shaking.

"Go on."

"What if I mess up?"

"You won't."

"You don't know that."

"It's not like it's really permanent, Elliott. It'll only last a couple of days."

"I know, but.."

"It's OK. Just do it."

And so he does, and it's as different from drawing on paper as he pictured it would be. Lines seem to come alive on Jaeger's skin, which moves when he traces. His nerves vanish with the fascination he finds in this surface, and he wonders why he never thought of it before. Jaeger is smiling a little, watching him.

"What?" asks Elliott, suddenly self-conscious.

"You were smiling."

"No, I wasn't."

"Yes, you were."

"OK, fine, so what?"

"Nothing. It's just that you never smile."

At that moment, the room door opens and Santana bursts in, clad in a black bikini, a striped blue and white towel wrapped around her waist. She looks at the two boys, huddled in a corner of the bed. "What are you guys doing?"

Elliott immediately tenses up, and Jaeger feels like he has to defend him, somehow. "Nothing."

Santana shrugs. "OK," and disappears into the bathroom, where they hear her turning on the shower.

It takes a while for Elliott to start drawing, until he feels like they're safe again, and Jaeger tries to make him feel at ease, the way he does with everyone, by talking. He gestures to the picture in the book.

"Do you know what kind of beetle it is?"

"No," Elliott whispers.

"Why are you whispering?"

"I'm not," Elliott answers, voice normal.

"It's a tiger beetle. I'm gonna get it tattooed for real when I'm older. My mom has one just like it."

This is so astounding to Elliott that he immediately stops his tracing. "No, she doesn't."

"Yeah," says Jaeger, rather matter-of-factly. "Why would I lie about that?"

"I don't know," says Elliott, suddenly uncomfortable. "Moms aren't supposed to have tattoos, are they?"

"That's what my dad says. But I think it's cool."

At that moment, Santana comes out of the bathroom, hair dripping, wearing a cobalt blue halter top and tight white shorts.

"Mom, look." Jaeger gets up and goes to her, showing her the half-finished drawing on his forearm.

Santana looks strangely touched. "Oh, Jaeger. It's awesome. Did you draw it?"

"No, Elliott did."

Elliott is still on the corner of the bed, looking everywhere but at Santana. She grabs her son's arm and studies the drawing carefully, then heads over to the bed and sits net to Elliott. "It's a great drawing, Elliott. Thanks."

"It's not finished yet," Elliott whispers again. "And it's gonna fade, it's not a real tattoo."

Santana glances at it again. "Pity. It's much prettier than mine."

Elliott stares at her in spite of himself, and Jaeger smiles. "Show him, mom."

Santana laughs and rolls up her top a little. It's right on her ribs, similar to Jaeger's only smaller and not as bright.

Elliott gasps. "That must have hurt. It's right on your bone."

"I got it such a long time ago, I can't even remember anymore."

Jaeger turns to look at his mother. "You did?"

"Yeah."

"When?"

"When I was in high school."

Elliott is so taken aback by the whole situation that he's forgetting to be shy. "Is that a tiger beetle too?"

"Uh-huh."

"Why do you guys like those so much?" The question is directed at Jaeger, but all he does is turn to his mother for an answer. Santana smiles.

"Well, I think Jaeger likes them because I like them. And the reason I like them... well, we used to try to catch them when we were children."

"Who? You and Jake?"

"Yeah. In the summers, by the creek. That's how I got interested in science in the first place."

"Did you ever? Catch one, I mean," asks Elliott.

"No. They're very fast."

"I bet you I could catch one," says Jaeger loudly.

Santana laughs. "I bet you could. But you can't anymore."

"Why not?"

"Because there's very few of them left. You'd be extremely lucky to even see one."

Both boys go silent at that, and then Jaeger makes a strangled noise. "Can't you do something about it, mom?"

"I wrote about it some, but... I'm not sure there's a lot that can be done."

"Is that why you got the tattoo?" Elliott asks quietly.

"Yeah. In part."

"And what's the other part?"

"It... reminded me of my childhood. I got it before I left for college."

"Before you left Jake."

Santana nods. "He has one, too."

"Of a tiger beetle?"

"Yeah."

"Where?" Jaeger demands. "I've never seen it."

"On his back. You've never seen it because of-"

"Because of the uniform, I know."

There's a certain sad note to it all, one that Elliott guesses isn't only due to the imminent extinction of the tiger beetle. Santana shakes her head, shaking off her thoughts, and gets up. "I'm gonna go for a walk."

Elliott nods and Santana glances at him with something like deference. "You guys finish that tattoo, OK?"


	10. Chapter 10

**I wrote a lot more this week than I had planned, but it felt too long for just one chapter, so I divided it into two. I will put both of them up this weekend, since they're pretty much done.**

**There were a lot of reviews this week so I'm going to try to answer and comment on what I can remember... Uhhh, Quinn does not have a terminal illness, but that's actually a really good guess, and not a half-bad idea, lol... Willow will have a more prominent role in the sense that she will bring about some important changes in her mother's life, but she will not appear as frequently in the story as the rest of her siblings... And, it's super interesting to see how people have reacted to the Jaeger-Santana relationship; some people love it, some people hate it. Which is sort of how I feel about it myself; I wanted to write about a young mom who loved her child with no boundaries, but that's not always a good thing.**

**Thank you so much for all your comments, reviews, questions, etc. You guys are incredibly sweet, and I can't believe people are actually reading this story.**

* * *

When she comes back later they're gone, both of them. There is only a little black book left on her bed, and she picks it up mindlessly, before Sam can sit on it. He glances at it suspiciously but doesn't ask what it is, and Santana wonders if he remembers that she had many of them, years ago, when he first fell in love with her.

She wouldn't show him anyway, even if he asked, because she feels like she's protecting a seven-year old's secret, and what's more precious than that? She doesn't know how she knows that it's a secret, only that hers always were, and that when you're a kid like Elliott, everything always seems like a secret.

She steps out into the hallway, shutting the door quietly behind her. Book in hand, she sits outside, on the soft, carpeted floor. Everyone must still be downstairs at the pool, and she hopes that no one will come disturb her, or, even worse, realize she's about to look through a little boy's journal.

She would never do it if it was Jaeger's. But Jaeger's never even had a journal, because for her son everything is public and must be communicated immediately after it happens. He doesn't need one, the notion of privacy and secrets is unknown to him because he's never found either to be necessary, and honestly, Santana knows him so well that she wouldn't even need to read his journal if he did keep one. But she guesses that things aren't like this at Elliott's house, that whatever his situation is, it can't be so easy.

Elliott's pages have no words, which doesn't come as a surprise; she remembers Jaeger mentioning that he wasn't very good with them. Instead, they're all doodles and traces, marks and spots and prints; textures and colors that he must keep very hidden, because they seem nothing like the boy she talked to today. She thought she'd find plenty of drawings of beetles or insects, that was what sparked her curiosity, and she does find a few drawings of animals, but larger and more complex; bears and wolves and even mammoths.

In reality, Elliott's sketchbook is a scattering of everything, finished and unfinished. Some of the drawings make her smile, bored still lifes of shoes and furniture, the kind made by someone who obviously longs for but lacks a live model. Others, like the one of Quinn rubbing her forehead tiredly, are shockingly accurate for something that must have been constructed solely from memory; Santana would never in a million years imagine Quinn posing in such manner, and yet he's captured something so essential to his mother's character that Santana feels he must see her much more clearly than he lets on, certainly more clearly than Finn. How many ways there are, of knowing someone, even when they don't want you to?

She hears the elevator doors open, footsteps running down the hall, and shuts the book quickly, fearing she's been caught. And she has, only it's by the only person she would have had catch her, but even so, she feels guilty her son's caught her snooping. He's looking at her in disapproval, and she hangs her head.

"I shouldn't have, should I?"

"You know you shouldn't."

"I couldn't help it. I was curious. He draws animals so well."

Jaeger sits down next to her. "Yeah. Those were my favorite, too. I felt like I knew them from somewhere."

Santana smiles. "Maybe you do."

Jaeger extends out his hand and Santana reluctantly hands him the sketchbook. "Tell him I want him to draw something for me sometime."

Jaeger nods."You want me to tell him you looked through it too?"

"If you want."

"Maybe I will. It doesn't feel right, not telling him."

Santana nods and kisses the top of his head. "You're gonna go now?"

"No. I'll give it to him tomorrow. I wanna look through it some more."

* * *

"Does that boy have a tattoo?"

They're at a fancy restaurant, all of them, having dinner to celebrate the team's win. They make a pretty long table, so Santana's family is nowhere within earshot, but close enough to be able to see Jaeger's drawn-on arm from a distance.

The idea is so ridiculous that no one looks up from their food to explain this to Quinn, which only causes her to become louder; something that happens whenever she's ignored. "Finn, did you hear me? I think that kid has a tattoo."

Elliott feels instantly irritated, as he's beginning to feel quite often with his mother. Even Finn sighs.

"Quinn, I know you don't like Santana, but no one in their right mind would allow their seven year old to get a tattoo."

"They let that kid do whatever he wants, I wouldn't be surprised-"

Even Willow butts in this time. "He didn't have it during the game, I don't think he just went to a tattoo parlor right quick, and no one would risk tattooing a kid that young anyway."

But Quinn keeps squinting at Jaeger's arm, like she didn't hear anything. Willow sighs in exasperation. "Why don't you just go and ask them, if you're so curious?"

Elliott is so afraid she will actually do it that he speaks up. "It's not a tattoo, mom. It's a drawing." He thinks, for a minute, of Santana's tattoo, and decides, then and there, that he will never bring that subject up with anyone, not even Willow.

Quinn shakes her head. "You don't know that. It looks like a tattoo to me."

"I do know. I wouldn't be saying it if I didn't."

Quinn raises her eyebrows at his tone of voice. "And just how are you so sure?"

"Because I drew it on him."

It sounds like a confession, but for Elliott, it's not just one. The secret he had been holding on to so dearly is out, not in what he would have thought would be a big production, but instead, in the most mundane of ways. Willow is watching him with concern; she knows how badly Elliott had wanted to hold on to his one talent without having to share it, but he's just blurted it out, for no real reason. This, however, has flown right over his mother's head, but his father is looking at the picture on Jaeger's forearm with a lot more attention. "You drew that?"

"Yeah."

Finn makes eye contact with Jaeger and waves him over. "Jaeger, bud, can you come here a minute?"

The flush on Elliott's cheeks doesn't go unnoticed by Quinn, and Jaeger's intuition is just as keen, like he knows what they were talking about, because he extends his forearm out to Finn, who examines it closely. "That's really nice."

Jaeger nods as he catches Elliott's eye. "Elliott's a good drawer."

Quinn drums her manicured fingernails against the table top, for once not at all concerned about ruining them. "OK, I think Jaeger can go back to his seat now."

Jaeger looks straight at her, in that frank way he sometimes does, and she feels uncomfortable because even though his eyes are his father's, something in that look reminds her uncannily of his mother. He shrugs and goes back to his seat without a word, and Willow glares at her mother silently from her chair. Finn pats Elliott on the head. "Who taught you how to draw like that?"

But Elliott's quiet.

"He taught himself," Willow answers automatically.

Finn looks impressed. "How come you never-"

"I don't want to talk about it."

Finn shrugs, accustomed to his son's odd temper. "OK."

But Quinn is turning sharply toward her son.

"When did you draw that on him?"

"When you guys were in the pool."

"Where?"

"What do you mean where? It's on his arm."

"No, I mean where were you when you did it?"

"In his room."

"You went to his hotel room without asking for permission?"

"I didn't know I was supposed to."

Willow cuts in. "Why are you acting like he did something wrong? He didn't do anything."

"Of course you don't think so, that's why you're not his mother. Elliott, you don't know those people, something could have happened to you-"

"I... I didn't think-"

"Of course you didn't. And what is this with drawing on people's skin? You know that's what they do in jail?"

Willow raises her voice."Don't be ridiculous, how do you even know-"

But in a flash, Jaeger is back by Elliott's side. "They do do that in jail."

All of the Hudsons turn to look at him and he shrugs. "That doesn't mean it's wrong. It's just something they do to pass the time."

Quinn looks so mortified at the turn this conversation has taken that Elliott wishes he could somehow telegraph a signal to Jaeger, telling him to shut up. Only Jaeger never does. "I mean, it's something people have always done, cultures from way back. Even some mummies had tattoos." Finally, he takes a breath and pauses. "And we weren't going to hurt Elliott, by the way. My mom likes him and she thinks his drawings are cool."

"She's only ever seen one."

Jaeger shakes his head. "You left your sketchbook in the room."

Elliott should feel upset by this, that someone got a look at his sketchbook without permission, but he finds that he doesn't mind Santana seeing them, and knows he wouldn't feel the same way if it had been his parents.

Quinn looks back and forth between the two boys, then back at her son. "Your sketchbook?"

Jaeger cuts in. "Yes, his black sketchbook, the one where he keeps all his-"

"Shut up, Jaeger." He says it almost without meaning to and very low, but for Jaeger, who isn't used to being told to be quiet, it's wounding to the core. He blinks and fixes his eyes on Elliott, then heads back to his seat, the three words more effective than Quinn's earlier dismissal.

Quinn shows every intention of continuing with the interrogation of her son, but Finn lays a hand on her thigh, a clear message, and she stops. Elliott feels confused in a way he's never felt before, and wonders why, in all of this cross-examination, no one thought to ask him the questions he could answer most easily, without hesitation.

_What did his skin feel like?_

_What kind of beetle was it?_

_Was it your best drawing ever?_

Or, the one that's been in his head all day, the one that he doesn't have an answer to.

_Why you? Why did he ask you?_

* * *

Quinn and Finn are lounging by the pool the next morning when Jaeger approaches, carrying a thick, black notebook in his arms. Finn smiles at him, but Quinn brings a hand to her forehead. In spite of it all, it is her Jaeger has a seat next to.

"You guys didn't know Elliott drew, did you?"

Finn glances at his wife, then shakes his head. "Elliott doesn't talk a whole lot."

"Yeah, I noticed. If I was as good as he is, I'd be telling everyone."

"Yeah, we don't doubt that," Quinn mutters.

"But you would think he would at least tell you guys."

This annoys Quinn to the core. "Do _you_ tell your mom everything?"

Jaeger's answer is plain with sincerity. "Yeah. And even when I don't tell her, she knows. She knows everything about me."

This stuns the Hudsons into silence, and finally, looking to break it, Finn gestures to the sketchbook Jaeger's carrying.

"What's that?"

"Elliott's sketchbook."

Quinn immediately reaches for it, but Jaeger doesn't budge, and Finn lays a hand on her arm.

"Quinn, I don't think he would want us to. Not without asking first."

The way Jaeger's hugging the sketchbook makes it look like he would have put up a fight for it anyway.

"Even Santana's seen it, Finn, and I can't look at something my own child did? He didn't seem to mind her looking at it."

She could care less what's in the sketchbook, really, it's only the feeling of being kept out that upsets her.

"I think he didn't mind because my mom is a stranger."

Finn turns to Jaeger. "Have _you_ seen them?"

"Yeah."

"Did you ask him if you could?"

"No. He showed them to me."

"Oh."

"He's really good."

"I knew he'd find his thing. Sooner or later."

Jaeger nods and gets up. "I'm gonna go look for him. He'll want it back."

Once he's gone, Quinn turns to her husband. "I don't want that kid hanging out with Elliott, he's a bad influence on him."

"A bad influence how?"

"Elliott's keeping secrets from us."

"Somehow I think he's kept this one for longer than he's known Jaeger."

"And that thing he drew on him-"

"It was a beetle."

"That's not like him at all."

"That doesn't necessarily mean it's a bad thing, Quinn. You heard Jaeger."

"Yeah, it's kind of hard not to."

"I thought you wanted Elliott to make friends."

"Not those kinds of friends."

"You're acting like he's a juvenile delinquent. He's the son of one of my best friends. He's from a good family. I don't understand what the problem-"

"Sam does whatever _she_ wants and you know it."

"Oh, so that's what this is about."

"This isn't about anything. I just want what's best for our son."

* * *

Santana is not a big believer in God. It's hard to be, when you've only ever had eyes for what's factual and real, and a son who's such a handful that he's the sun, the only at whose altar you've ever worshiped.

It is one of the things that attracted her to Sam, that even though he grew up in a religious family, and probably did believe in some form of deity, he never made the time to go to church. He wouldn't insist on a wedding, he was fine with shacking up, and he'd much rather spend Sunday mornings sleeping in than at church. He is, whoever, a social church goer, and adamant about going whenever his mother visits or when the occasion calls for it.

Apparently the occasion calls for it on Sunday, because the whole team is going to mass. Santana, not wanting to fight, agrees to go. They are, of course, late, after Sam makes her and Jaeger change twice because their clothes are not to his satisfaction.

Finn's family is sitting in one of the front pews, half of which they have saved for them, as evidenced by the way he keeps glancing back to see if they're coming. Santana, who walks in first, sees him but pretends not to, and has a seat in one of the back pews, next to Tina and her husband. Sam has no choice but to follow, and though he shoots Santana a supremely annoyed look once they've sat down.

Santana tries to pay attention to what's being said in the sermon, but for all her brains and schooling, none of this has ever made any sense to her. Sam seems to be taking it in stride, however, and Santana wonders if the peaceful look on his face is feigned or real. Nearing the end of service, she finds herself playing with Tina's daughter Tammy, who is adorable in ways Jaeger simply isn't.

By the end of it, both families walk out together, and are met at the entrance of the church

by a couple of the others. Finn sees Santana carrying Tammy and winks at her.

"Wishing you'd had one of your own?"

She frowns, confused. "One what?"

"A little girl."

Santana laughs. "Oh, no way. I wouldn't know what to do with a girl."

"That's what I thought, before we had Willow."

"And?"

He laughs. "And I still don't know. But she stole my heart. Much like this little other one," he says, picking up his Daisy from the floor.

"What are y'all talking about?" asks Sam as he joins them.

"About how you need to start putting in extra hours, 'cause Santana wants a girl."

Sam frowns and turns to Santana. "You do?"

Their eyes meet and Santana knows they are in as much agreement as they seldom are about anything. They don't want another child. They _can't_ have another child.

Finn laughs. "Don't tell me you don't want a little girl, Sam?"

"I can't say I don't, only... I think we have our hands full with Jaeger."

_Would he have wanted a little girl?,_ Santana wonders. _In other circumstances, in another life, with a different woman? _

Finn shakes his head and kisses Daisy. "You guys should really give it some thought. They really are the sweetest things."

They all go silent at that, long enough to overhear what the group of women next to them is saying, commanded, of course, by Quinn.

"Yeah, we can meet there at ten."

Finn glances at his wife. "Meet for where?"

"That club that just opened downtown."

Santana butts in. "I thought you had injured your foot."

Quinn shoots her an icy glare. "It's doing much better, thanks for your concern."

Finn grins. "My wife. Never one to miss an opportunity to go dancing."

Everyone laughs at that, even Quinn.

"So, who's going?"

"Everyone."

Finn glances pointedly at Sam and Santana, who seem to know nothing about this. Quinn glances at them, an afterthought.

"Oh, yeah. You guys can come, too."

* * *

Tina sighs as they look through the endless racks of clothes at the boutique. "All my nice clothes are from before I had Tammy and none of them fit anymore. I haven't bought new ones because I don't want to stay like this."

Santana glances at her. "Your body's perfect, Tina."

"No. You should have seen me before. I was tiny. I feel like this isn't even me." She glances at Santana enviously. "I would've thought you had all sorts of nice clothes to go out."

"Nope. You're the first person I ever tell this to, but this is actually my first time going to a club."

Tina gasps. "But you're so pretty. And you were a model."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Well, aren't models supposed to go out to parties all the time and stuff?"

"Only if you want to."

"But why wouldn't you want to? If I had your body, I'd be showing it off."

Santana shrugs. "It was never my thing. I didn't model because I liked it, I did it to put myself through college." She plops down on a nearby armchair. "There aren't many things I find difficult, but shopping for clothes is definitely one of them."

Tina snorts. "Please. You could wear a paper sack and you'd look good." She pulls an orange dress from the rack. "What do you think?"

"I think neither of us is qualified to be shopping for ourselves." She waves over one of the store attendants, and, without getting up, gestures to Tina. "Miss Cohen-Chang and I are going out dancing to a very trendy club today and we have no idea what to wear. Would you be so kind as to help us?"


	11. Chapter 11

What the sales lady selected was nothing like what they would have picked out themselves. Santana feels oddly uncomfortable in it and remembers Tina's earlier words, about feeling not like herself. Everything about this night makes Santana feel not like herself, even Sam by her side, dressed in a crisp white shirt and a brand-new brown leather jacket that makes her feel as guilty as if she's bought it herself. The only thing she's OK with is Tina by her side. She insisted, to Sam's dismay, on meeting the Chang's outside so they could all walk in together. It is unlike her, but she feels like holding Tina's hand. She's so used to being her own rock, to never needing anybody, but this move and this life might yet be teaching her lessons on her own vulnerability, something she thought she was forever done with. One look at Tina's anxious face, however, clears up all her insecurities, and she smiles at her friend. "Come on. Let's go inside. It'll be fun."

* * *

She's sitting at the bar next to Finn, sipping on a chocolate martini, the only drink she can actually stand because it's sweet, when Santana and Tina walk in, looking surprisingly sharp. Santana is wearing a long sleeved, glittering gold mini-dress, and as for Tina, well, Quinn thinks it might be the first time she's ever seen her look decent, in a charcoal gray peplum top and a fitted black skirt. And Santana must have done their makeup; if there's one thing she can admit to Santana doing well, it's that, a skill probably left over from her modeling days.

There are replays of the game playing on a screen on the other side of the bar, and the men quickly gather around it. Santana looks around the club. The first thing she spots is Quinn, the center of attention in a spectacular hot pink dress, with a plunging neckline and golden chains that hang off her back. The second thing she spots is the bar, where she quickly drags Tina, calling the bartender over.

"I'll have a shot of Patron and the lady will have a Manhattan. "

"Santana, I don't even know what that is."

"Don't worry. I have a feeling you're gonna learn a lot of new things tonight."

Daiquiri, margarita, whiskey sour, mint julep, cosmo; it's not long before they're all swimming together in Tina's head, to the point where she's not even sure which one's she's had and which ones she hasn't. Santana knows exactly which ones she's had and in what order; they haven't gone to her head yet, but they're about to. She watches the people living it up on the dance floor, Quinn Hudson among them, and even though it's fun and even pleasant, watching her dance, she can't shake off the feeling that she's in the wrong place at the wrong time, with all these men and women pushing a model of coupleship she's not sure she still believes in. The single scene makes her terribly uncomfortable; she never had to flirt with Sam, that was another reason she liked him. Things with him were easy; looking back, that had been the basis of his appeal. He'd assumed she was into him from the start, there was no playing games or beating around the bush. Everything had been practical and sensible, just the way she liked it, even if, now, she finds Sam's assumptions a little revolting. The thought only makes her down another drink; she might not be an expert at this life, but the drinking part she's got down; it's a family thing.

More people are huddled in front of the TV now, as the game nears to an end. It's not the first time the players have watched it, but Santana thinks it must be exciting, to see yourself replayed over and over when you did everything you were supposed to, when you came out victorious. Mike and Sam wave her and Tina over, wanting to watch the ending together, and Santana finds that she has to hold on to Tina just to keep her on her feet as they cross the room. She feels a pang of regret that she allowed, no, encouraged, her friend to get this trashed.

They get there seconds before it's over, and Tina breaks into loud cheering. Everyone turns to look at her. Mike's expression is somewhere between cringing and amusement, until Tina finally collapses into a chair and admits that "she can't do this anymore."

He puts an arm around her and turns to the rest of them. "It's late. I think we're gonna head back to the hotel."

A couple of the others nod in agreement, and as Santana watches the flock flee, she realizes she doesn't want to go. Quinn Hudson is getting up too, and it is her wrist Santana catches when trying to get things to stay put.

* * *

Quinn is trying to make her way through the crowd when she feels the softest, tenderest skin grazing hers, and stops dead on her tracks. Santana's voice is soft, too, and slurred.

"Don't."

Her first reaction is to shake her off, but Santana's fingers are warm around her wrist, and she's obviously intoxicated. Quinn thought that, at some time in her life, she had run out of pity, but finds tonight it isn't so.

"Don't what?"

"Don't go."

"I wasn't going to. I'm usually the last one left standing at these things."

"Really?"

Quinn shrugs. "Yeah. I like a good party."

From the corner of her eye, Santana can see Sam watching her as she talks to Quinn, giving her a small nod of approval. He follows the rest of the guys to the bar, and Santana half-wonders if she should go too, and get herself another shot, just to piss him off.

Apparently she's said that out loud, because Quinn's sniggering at her a little.

"I take it wouldn't be your first one."

Santana glances at the martini Quinn's still sipping on. "I take that's yours."

Quinn smiles in spite of herself, immediately finding the drunk Santana much easier to bear, both because it's hard to find her superior, and because there is a high chance that she won't remember whatever it is that happens tonight.

"Been nursing it for the past two hours. I don't really like alcohol."

"You can't not like alcohol. No one can. That just means you haven't had the right thing to drink."

She grabs Quinn's martini and swallows it down in a gulp. "Yuck," then grabs a bartender passing by the hand. "Two Hurricanes, please."

The color of the drinks is an echo of Quinn's dress, and she takes a large sip that makes her cough and splutter. Santana laughs.

"Jesus, Santana, what the hell is in this?"

Santana raises her eyebrows at the choice of words. "You talk like this in front of Finn?"

Quinn ignores her. "I'm not drinking this."

"Bacardi 151. Shit's so strong it's flammable."

It strikes Quinn as hilarious, and so she laughs, and pretty soon Santana is laughing too and Quinn feels dizzy, maybe because she's drunk, maybe because she can't remember when was the last time she laughed so much. She sips on it again and Santana looks at her face expectantly. "So?"

"So it's not bad? I think?"

"Wait 'til you've had a couple more, then you'll see how good they are."

She wonders, for a minute, if she should feel guilty about this. Like it wasn't bad enough, getting Tina drunk, now she's doing it with the crown jewel, but somehow, this seems a lot different.

Finn can see them getting wasted from the other side of the club, but doesn't mind. He thinks that this might be how girls like Santana bond, and it's what he wanted, and it's fine. It's only one night.

Quinn, looking for something to say and feeling the alcohol reveling in her blood, finally admits something that's been bugging her all night. "I like your dress."

Santana scoffs. "Please. It's nothing compared to yours."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means nothing, OK? Why the fuck do you always have to take everything the wrong way? It just means you look good."

"Oh. Thanks. Finn picked it out."

"I guess there's something to be said for letting the person you fuck pick out your clothes."

"What?"

"I said-"

"Yeah, I heard what you said, you don't need to repeat it."

There is a slight blush on her cheeks and Santana quirks an eyebrow at her. "What is it that you're objecting to, exactly?"

"I've no interest in talking about that stuff with you."

"About what stuff? Fucking?"

"Yes."

"For some reason I get the impression you don't talk about it with anybody."

"You're right, I don't."

"Why?"

"Because it's personal, and it's inappropriate."

"Do you even talk to Finn about it?"

"Stop it. Stop it or I'll leave."

Santana's eyes linger on her for a minute, but then she shrugs and drops it. They turn to the dance floor, watching people move, and Santana suddenly feels like watching Quinn among them. "You're all danced out? Hearing people talk, you'd think you had more stamina."

"I have plenty of-"

"I know, I've seen you, remember?"

Quinn flushes. "I'm just taking a break."

The song comes to an end and another one starts up, making Santana smile. "Jaeger loves this song."

Quinn frowns a little. "He does?"

"Yeah. It's one of his favorites to dance to."

Maybe it's the drinking, but Quinn says what she swore she wouldn't. "He's really talented, you know. More than anyone I've seen that age."

Santana shrugs. "He's being doing it for a while."

"Since when?"

"Four."

Quinn's eyes widen. "Whose idea was it?"

Santana rolls her eyes. "His, of course. I'm completely graceless, it would have been the last thing I would have ever thought of, even if he'd been a girl."

"What does Sam say?"

"He doesn't like it, but... Jaeger plays soccer and softball too, so I guess it balances out in his mind."

Almost as if he had heard his name, Sam joins them, drink in hand. Santana can't pretend to be too pleased, and neither can Quinn, though, she tries to remind herself that this man is kind, that this is the man who helped her.

Their conversation dies down and they order another round of drinks. For once, Sam letting Santana drink to her heart's content. Finn and the rest of the team join them soon after, and Santana realizes with a start that her and Quinn are the only two women left; the rest must have already gone back to the hotel. This makes them the middle of the circle, and Quinn suddenly feels hot and trapped, in a position she never asked to be. She tries to whisper as much to Finn, but he only cups a hand around his ear and shouts. "What, hon? I can't hear you."

She's drank so much she can feel her voice breaking. "I'm gonna go dance. Wanna come?"

But Finn shakes his head. "I think I'm done for the night. Why don't you take Santana?"

"Yeah, that's a good idea," Sam chimes in.

"Take me where?"

"To the dance floor."

Quinn's actually looking at Santana hopefully; the idea of going up there alone and drunk is not very comforting.

"No fucking way. I don't dance."

Finn grins. "That's right, I forgot. Well, my wife's a really good teacher."

She would never agree to this in her right state of mind, but Quinn's already coiling her fingers around her hand and next thing she knows, she's stumbling on to the floor.

"You know, even if I wasn't piss drunk, I wouldn't be able to do this."

"Do what? I'm not asking you to do anything extraordinary. Just move your feet from side to side."

Quinn's swaying in front of her and her eyes are closed, and Santana tries to follow the rhythm of her feet. One, two, one, two. She feels wobbly in these heels she never wears, but Quinn's hand is light on her hip, keeping her steady. "That's good. You're doing good," and Santana closes her eyes too and revels in the pleasure of hearing those words that she doesn't think she's ever heard in her life.

"Your foot seems like it's doing better."

"What?"

Santana points towards Quinn's feet. "Your foot. It's better."

"Oh, yeah. I heal pretty quickly."

Santana wonders how many things she's had to heal from to know that, and if she's as quick to heal from other types of pain. The slow beat of their song uncannily turns into a fast one in a matter of seconds, and they both open their eyes, startled. Santana is about to make a run for it, but Quinn stops her. "Come on, don't tell me you don't know how to dance to this."

"It's hip-hop, of course I don't." She pauses for a minute. "Do you?"

"Oh, I can dance to anything."

It reminds her strangely of Jaeger, and she smiles. "Show me."

It takes nothing to have Quinn swaying from side to side in seconds, like she was born to do this, and undoubtedly she was. Santana feels like she's the only one who knows this, but it is evident everyone in this club tonight does, too. She's sexy, and they're all watching her, and Santana feels so out of place, like she's only blocking the view, that she steps back, ready to move, but then Quinn's holding on to her, and Santana feels like she's frozen on the spot. She doesn't know if Quinn's ever danced like this on Finn, but here she is, running her hands all over Santana like she does it every day, and pressing her body to hers in grinds and humps. She must look terrified, because Quinn whispers in her ear. "It's OK, it's a game, lighten up."

And maybe it's because they're both drunk and that makes everything all right, but pretty soon Santana's swaying with her too, and then they're putting on a show, and for what feels like the first time in her life, Santana doesn't mind being the center of attention, because with this woman, she feels powerful.

It's a game, just the two of them amidst all these people, a game that makes Quinn forget she has a husband and that he's standing in this very room. They're both watching, Finn and Sam, grinning along with everyone else, because they thought Santana hated dancing, because these women might yet become friends, and because the whole thing is hot as fuck.

Sam's loud whistling makes Santana feel a pang of annoyance, but for Quinn, it splits everything down the middle. She looks up, startled, and then at Santana, like she doesn't even know her. She looks across the room, at Finn, who is smiling like it's OK, but nothing is OK, nothing might ever be OK again, because something just tore and she knows it. She stumbles off the floor and takes off her heels, and Santana is left there, watching her with something like concern, and when their eyes meet Quinn feels like she's losing her balance, and she can't, she _won't _lose her footing again. She runs outside, barefoot into the cold night, and Santana wants to chase after her, to find her, but she can't, because Finn's already beaten her to it.


	12. Chapter 12

**I'm uploading this earlier than usual this week because I'm not going to be here for the weekend... I know some people feel like this fic is going slow and I feel like now is the time to warn you that it will continue to be this way. Again, Quinntana is endgame, but in this particular alternate universe, these are two women that have always considered themselves straight, so nothing is going to be as easy or as quick or maybe even as happy as it is on Glee. Thanks to those of you who have stuck with this story regardless of that. I am so, so committed to telling these characters' story and to trying to make it as honest and genuine as possible.**

* * *

Santana always feels guilty after drinking, which is why she hardly ever does it. She can see herself, almost turning into her mother, and the thought of losing Jaeger, of ever having to leave Jaeger is so scary, it sets her straight. She's sort of upset with Sam, for letting her drink so much, for not keeping an eye on her the way he said he would when they made the commitment to stay together all those years ago. But he doesn't bring it up, and neither does she.

When they get to the hotel room, Jaeger is already asleep, taking up the bed from side to side and half-covered in blankets because the AC in the room is turned so high up. She glances at Sam and they shrug, neither willing to move their son. Sam grabs a bunch of pillows, sheets and towels from the closet and lays them on the floor instead; their own makeshift bed. They lay down with their backs to each other and Santana sighs heavily.

"You have fun?"

"No."

"First time I've ever seen you dance."

"Not true. I danced with Finn at the gala."

"Yeah, but this was different."

She can't deny it, so she's just silent.

"You think you'll remember any of it tomorrow?"

So he remembers how it is then, how the last times she got drunk, before Jaeger, she lost entire hours, entire nights, everything.

"I hope not."

Sam nods. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have-"

"It's fine, Sam. Like you said, it'll all be gone in the morning."

So she tries to stay awake as long as possible, she'd do it forever if she could, just to make sure she'd remember.

* * *

Quinn has no problem remembering, though that's in itself a problem, when one has so many things that need to be put away. So that she does, each and every time, memories tucked into little compartments not to be opened again. She had hoped this wouldn't be the case with last night, she had hoped that the alcohol would put everything to rest, but when she wakes up, at sunrise, she finds the memories still there, jabbing at her sharply. She sits up,hugs her legs to her chest, takes a deep breath and closes her eyes. _I will not think about this again, I will not think about this again, I will not think about it again._

Finn gets up while she's at it, but she's so focused she doesn't even notice, and he stares at her, wondering what she's up to now. He never seems to know what his wife is thinking, but she's got such an intense, focused look on her little face, that he can only guess what it must be that she's willing away. He kisses her furrowed brow and Quinn opens her eyes, startled.

"You all right?"

"Yeah. I was just-"

"It's fine," he says with a small smile. "I know."

"You do?" She looks into her husband's eyes, surprised. She finds traces of the old pain still there and realizes, with a pang, that there is no way he would know, that she has a new one now.

* * *

"Jaeger? Jaeger? Where are you?"  
She feels like she's had this nightmare before, probably because of her son's propensity for getting lost, and in her still hazy mind, she's blaming it all on her drinking. By the time she woke up, Jaeger was already long gone. She looked for him in the pool and by the lobby, but he was nowhere to be found. She's not worried yet, hasn't even woken up Sam; Jaeger has so many friends amongst the team's children that he could be in any of their rooms, although she suspects she will have to check Elliott's first.

Whatever it was that happened with Quinn last night is still fuzzy in her head, but she knows there must be a reason she's so reluctant about knocking on that particular door. As a matter of fact, the only thing that would make her do it is exactly the reason she's doing it: Jaeger.

She makes her way down the hall and, taking a deep breath, knocks on the door. She hears a crash from within and then the door opens a little bit and Elliott peeks out, looking visibly relieved.

"Oh, it's just you."

He opens the door wider and she steps inside. "Are you looking for my mom?"

"Uh, no, actually. Are you alone?"

"Yeah."

"Where is everybody?"

"They went out for ice cream after dinner."

"Jesus, what time is it?"

"Like seven."

Santana brings a hand to her forehead. "I slept the whole day. And now I can't find Jaeger."

"He's over at the Lawrenson's. They're playing videogames."

Santana is about to ask why Elliott's not with them when she spots a toy oven and some dishes swept hastily under the bed.

"Those yours?"

He tenses up immediately and shuts the door behind her. "Of course not. They're Daisy's. Boys don't have ovens."

Santana laughs. "I'm sure there's some that do."

Elliott frowns at her. "Like who?"

"I don't know. Those that want to be chefs or something. Or maybe they just like them."

"I don't wanna be a chef."

"So you just like ovens, then?"

Elliott shrugs. "I guess."

Santana nods and heads for the door. "I'm gonna go look for Jaeger. I'll see you later."

"Santana, I mean, Mrs. Evans-"

"Santana's fine."

Elliott blushes, but looks up at her determinedly. "Please don't tell my mom."

"Tell her what?"

"That you saw me playing with... she doesn't like for me to play with Daisy's toys."

"Is she afraid you'll break them?"

"No. She says they're for girls."

"Oh."

Elliott is looking down at the floor and Santana feels angry with Quinn, suddenly.

"You know, there aren't really things for boys and things for girls, Elliott."

"My mom says there are."

"Well, some people think so, but... has Jaeger told you he dances ballet?"

Elliott looks so surprised Santana thinks he might topple over. "He does?"

"Yeah. He's in one of your mom's classes, actually."

"Really? She never mentioned it."

"Yeah, I figured."

"Won't Jaeger be mad that you told me?"

"I don't think so. I'm surprised he didn't tell you himself. You can ask him about it, if you want."

"Ewww, no. I hate ballet."

Santana laughs and glances at the little cupcakes still in the oven. "Any chance you'll share?"

"You really wanna try them? My sisters never want to. I always end up eating everything myself."

Santana shrugs. "I haven't eaten a thing all day."

They sit on the floor, across from each other. Elliott carefully places two cupcakes on a plate for Santana and watches her eat.

"Y'all came back pretty late, didn't you?"

"Yeah. How did you know?"

"Oh, I can't sleep when my parents are away."

He thinks he might have overshared, but Santana is nodding as if this made perfect sense. She's about to ask for another cupcake when they hear footsteps coming down the hall and a knock on the door. Elliott tries to put everything away quickly, but Santana shakes her head and whispers. "It's OK, I got it."

The knocking becomes more insistent, and finally, she gets up and opens the door.

* * *

Quinn wonders if thinking and thinking about something can cause you to conjure it up. Out of thin air, apparently, because now Santana's here, in her own room, like a fantasy she didn't know she had, of opening doors and finding her there, always.

"What are you doing here?"

Santana looks startled at her tone of voice. "I was-"

But Quinn's already pushing past her and into the room, where the oven are dishes are scattered about the floor. "What is all this?"  
Santana feels immediately defensive of Elliott, and she steps in front of him protectively. "I came looking for Jaeger and then I saw Daisy's oven and I asked Elliott if I could use it to make something. I didn't think you'd be back so soon."

Quinn is looking back and forth between her and Elliott suspiciously, and Santana breaks the silence. "Oh, come on. I never had one as a child, OK? Is it that weird that I'd want to use it?"

Quinn shrugs. "I don't know."

"Did you have one when you were little?"

"I had everything I wanted when I was little."

"I bet you still do."

Quinn turns to Elliott sharply. "Elliott, please pick up all of that stuff and leave us alone for a bit. And shut the door behind you."

He nods, knowing better than to argue, and dumps everything into the nearest empty suitcase. He shoots Santana a grateful glance before exiting. Santana fixes her eyes on Quinn.

"What's wrong?"

"That you're exactly the person I didn't want to see, and I come and find you in my room."

She doesn't realize what she's saying until it's out, but even as it is, she finds it to be unequivocally true, even if she's not sure why. Seeing Santana makes her feel unsettled in a way she hasn't felt in years, and she doesn't welcome the reminder.

"Quinn, look, I... I'm not a good a drinker, so, whatever I did last night, I apologize."

Quinn's eyes, liquid and slippery, are wide on her. "You mean you don't remember?"

"I remember we were drinking together and talking, and..."

Quinn almost feels like stomping her foot on the ground, the way Daisy does when she's upset. "It's not fair."

"What isn't?"

_That you can't remember and I can't forget. _"Nothing."

"Jesus, the way you're acting, I wish I remembered."

"I wish you did, too." But it's not true, because even if she could remember, it wouldn't make any difference.

"Any chance you'll tell me?"

"No."

"I... always forget things. After I drink."

"Lucky you."

* * *

Finn offers Quinn the aisle seat on the plane this time, but she she declines as soon as she sees Santana having a seat right across from them. Santana tries to pretend she didn't notice what just happened, and smiles at Finn when he finally sits down, after making sure all the children and his wife are strapped in and comfortable, Quinn in the farthest seat possible, wearing earplugs and a sleeping mask.

"Never a moment's rest, huh?"

He laughs. "Nope. I've been up since five."

"You go running today?"

"Yeah. Didn't see you out there."

Santana shakes her head. "I overslept. It's the first day in years I don't go out running."

Finn nods. "Yeah, I can tell. You're very good. You ever think about competing?"

"I've been in a couple of marathons here and there. There's one coming up, actually."

"The one for the university?"  
"Yeah. You going?"

"I wasn't thinking about it, but if you're going, it might be fun."

"I can sign you up, if you want."

Finn nods. "Yeah, sure. Count me in."

* * *

And just like that, they're back home, and everything's back to normal, and Quinn can hardly believe it. The turmoil she's felt the past couple of days feels like it might finally begin to settle, because at home, her mundane life takes care of erasing any feeling out of the ordinary, like that nervous beating in her chest that she had begun to think was becoming part of her.

She feels almost like she needs another vacation to recover from the emotional exhaustion from this one, and she tells Finn as much. He laughs; for him there's no vacation, he has training from nine to nine, and Willow and Elliott have to go back to school. She spends the whole day in bed with Daisy, switching the TV channels repeatedly, from one nondescript reality show to the next, and then Dora the Explorer, until she falls asleep.

It's late afternoon when Daisy wakes her for ballet class. Elliott and Willow are already home and there's a pouring thunderstorm outside. Quinn sighs. It's no longer time, to ask Puck to come and get them; her parents' house is too far away, so she phones her husband instead.

"Finn?"

"Yeah. What's wrong?"

"Well, it's raining pretty hard here, and Daisy and I can't walk to ballet and it's too late to call Puck."

"OK?"

"So I was wondering if you could give us a ride?"

"We're in the middle of training, Quinn. I can't just get up and leave."

"Oh. OK. It's just that I didn't want to have to call and cancel, you know how Daisy gets."

"Why don't you ask Willow to take you?"

Willow's been driving herself and her brother to and from school now, which has been a big relief, because it eases the pressure off Finn, and Puck, too, because he had to drive them when Finn was away.

Quinn wonders why she didn't think of asking her, and maybe the thought did cross her mind, but she must have set it aside immediately. She's never even been in the car with her daughter ever since Willow learned how to drive.

"Quinn?"

"Yeah?"

"I bought that car for you, you know."

"I don't think she realizes that."

"She's your daughter. I don't think she's going to refuse you a favor."

"If it's my car, then it's not really asking for a favor, is it? Only she'll think it is."

She can hear Finn's heavy sigh on the other end of the line. "I'll ask her, if you want. Let me talk to her."

"No. Call her cell phone. Otherwise she'll think I put you up to it."

He sighs again. "Fine, Quinn. Have a good time in class."

* * *

"Mom?"

"Yeah?" Santana quickly shuts the biology book she was perusing as she hears Jaeger come into the kitchen.

"You know I have ballet today, right?"

"Yeah, so?"

"Dad's out training, remember? He can't take me."

"Shit."

"What?"

"Nothing, I just... I'd forgotten. Do you have to go?"

Jaeger frowns. "I don't _have _to. But you haven't been to any of my classes here, I thought you'd want to come."

Santana gets up. "You're right. I'm being stupid. Let's go."

* * *

"You could have asked me yourself, you know. Did you think I was gonna say no?"

They're driving to class, and they're already late, and Willow's attitude is not improving Quinn's general mood.

"You make it sound like I'm scared of you."

"Are you? Ms. Jones used to think you were. Is that why you had her fired?"

"You really think I'm important enough to get someone fired at my beck and call?"

"No. But the PTA is, and we all know what a big-shot you are there."

"That's enough, Willow. You should be grateful you have a mother who is involved-"

"Yeah, well, I'm not."

Willow drives entirely too fast for her taste, but Quinn feels like saying something would be pushing her luck. The car brakes abruptly into a parking spot right in front of the community center. Quinn reaches into the back seat for her stuff, where Daisy's fast asleep.

"Daisy, come on, we're late. We gotta go."

She tries shaking her, but Daisy won't wake up, and finally, Willow sighs. "Go. I'll wake her and meet you inside."

Quinn nods and rushes off.

* * *

Inside the classroom, all her students are warming up. At the door, she runs into Santana. She feels her stomach flip, and, trying to ignore it, sits down on the hardwood floor to tie her slippers on. Santana clears her throat and Quinn has no choice but to acknowledge her, without looking up.

"Must I run into you everywhere I go?"

Santana moves in closer to her, just as Quinn is getting up.

"You think I showed up just to see you, don't you? Well, I didn't. I've seen everything there is to see, remember?"

Quinn flushes.

"I came to see my son dance, I hope that's OK with you."

"I don't seem to be able to stop you."

Santana sighs. "I don't know how many times you want me to apologize for something I can't even remember doing... I've actually thought about asking Finn what was."

"Finn doesn't know anything about this."

"I mean, I asked Sam about that night, and he said we were dancing, and then you ran out."

"I had a headache."

"And I suppose that was my fault?"

"I never said-"

Quinn hadn't become aware of just how close they were standing to each other, of how the rest of the world had seemed to dim and lose its color until Willow comes and stands next to them, dragging Daisy by the hand.

"What's going on?"

Quinn's so startled she nearly jumps out of her skin. "What?"

"What were you guys talking about?"

Santana turns to look at Willow. "Not that it's any of your business, but we were talking about my son."

If any other person had talked to her daughter the way Santana just did, Quinn knows she would have jumped at their throat. Willow knows this too, knows that even though they don't get along, her mother is always on her side. Except that this time, for some reason, she's quiet, and her mother is hardly ever quiet. Quinn's thankful that the nature of their relationship won't allow Willow to ever bring this up, for fear it will look like she actually cares.

She feels relief at Santana's response until she realizes that the fact that she lied means there's something to hide, and that they're in it together now, sharing something. And Quinn, who thought Santana Lopez would be the last person in the world she would ever share something with, is finding out she doesn't mind it at all.


	13. Chapter 13

**OK, so, I can't believe I've gotten to the point where I have 99 reviews. Thank you so much everyone for reading this story that at first I doubted would ever take off, and to everyone that's left such lovely comments. And, really, I'm grateful for all comments in general, good and bad.**

**Someone commented on the fantasy nature of the story, which I thought was interesting because I didn't think anyone noticed. In a sense, it's kind of supposed to be fairy tale-ish sometimes, in the descriptions as much as the dialogue. I feel like there are parts of it that would never work otherwise, because they could never be interpreted as 100 percent real.**

* * *

"Finn, I think I want to try to learn how to drive again."

It's almost worth saying it just to see the beaming look on his face. He takes her out to practice that very afternoon, explaining the basics all over again, and Quinn thinks it must be the twentieth time they've gone over them, but he's acting as if it was the first.

After two weeks of constant practice, she's driving on her own again, reaching the point she's reached so many times before; on the brink of telling everyone she finally, finally, knows how to drive, but still not certain she can do it on her own, alone in a car, without Finn by her side.

"Of course you can, Quinn."

"What if something happens?"

"I don't care about the car. You know I don't care about the car."

"What if run over someone?"

"Quinn, running over someone is actually a lot more difficult than you think."

"Wanna bet?"

"That's what the brakes are for, hon."

Quinn sighs. "Finn."

"Yeah?"

"I wish the world made as much sense as you make it seem."

* * *

"Hudson residence."

"Yes, hello, can I speak to Finn, please?"

"May I ask who's calling?" Oh, who is she kidding? She knows exactly who this is. But it still takes her aback; this might be the first time she has ever heard a woman's voice asking for her husband on the phone.

"Santana Lopez."

"And what is this regarding?"

"Seriously? It's not about you, if that's what you're thinking."

Finn, who is next to her in bed, frowns. "Who is that?"

"Santana. She wants to talk to you."

"Well, hand me the phone, then."

She does so, reluctantly, and pretends not to care as Finn gets up and takes it into the next room. She can hear him laughing and it's irritating, because she thinks they might be laughing at her, but has to admit that those two seem to need no reason to laugh together, at everything.

She won't stop staring at him when he comes back, and finally she bursts with it. "What did she want?"

Finn smiles. "I was wondering how long you were gonna be able to hold that in. It was nothing, really."

"You don't call a married man's house this late at night for nothing."

"She's signed me up for the university marathon in two weeks."

"What? Without asking you?"

"Oh, no, she asked me."

"When?"

"During the trip."

When did I ever let those two out of my sight during the trip?, Quinn wonders. "And you said yes?"

"Yeah. It sounds like fun."

"But Finn, you could get injured."

"It's not really any different from what I do every morning, Quinn."

"I know, but-"

"If you don't want me to do it, I won't."

"When did I say that?"

He shrugs.

"Finn, when have I ever tried to stop you from doing something you wanted to do?"

"You're right, I'm sorry." He pauses. "I'm not actually running it _with_ her, you know."

"I never said-"

"I know you didn't. I just want you to know. She's much faster than I am, anyway."

"OK."

"And we don't even train together or anything. I mean, I run into her in the mornings, but-"

"It's OK, Finn. I know that."

"I'm just saying. In case you didn't."

"Well, I do. And let's not talk about it anymore."

* * *

The ringing of the phone is usually a happy occasion for Quinn, who is the recipient of most calls. Today, though, she sighs, remembering how the last phone call she picked up went.

She half-expects to hear Santana's voice again, but instead, she hears that of an unknown male, asking for Willow. Quinn stiffens at the sound of her daughter's name on these strange lips.

"Who is this calling?"

"Axel."

"Axel. Do you have a last name?"

"Fisher." It doesn't sound like a last name she's heard before, which can't be good.

"Are you a classmate of Willow's?"

"Uh, no. Not exactly. We met at battle of the bands."

"Battle of the bands?"

"Yes. Uh, is she home or not?"

Quinn hangs up the receiver and rushes off to find her husband. He's in bed, reading the paper.

"Finn?"

"Yeah?"

"What's a battle of the bands?"

He frowns, putting down his newspaper. "It's like a concert where rock bands compete, isn't it?"

"I don't know, Finn, that's why I'm asking you."

"Well, why do you wanna know?"

"Because, whatever it is, your daughter was apparently there."

"Willow? No way. When?"

"That's what we're about to figure out."

They go knock on her door, both of them, and she's none too happy when she opens it and sees them standing there. "What do you guys want?"

Finn gestures to the inside of the room. "Can we come in?"

Willow shrugs and lets them in. Quinn hasn't been allowed in her daughter's bedroom in such a long time that she has trouble recognizing the place. It used to be decorated in pale pink and purple; she can still see some of the paint underneath the multiple band posters Willow has pasted on the walls. She glances at her husband, but he's unfazed. Apparently, she's the only one who hadn't seen it.

"So, what is this about?"

Finn clears his throat. "Your mother received an... odd phone call yesterday."

"OK?"

Finn delivers the words slowly, almost as if he were pained to have to say them at all. "It was a boy, asking for you, and-"

"If he was asking for me, then the call wasn't for mamma, was it? What did he want?"

"Uh, Willow, sweetie, that's beside the point."

"Not really, though. I have a right to know what my phone call-"

Quinn interrupts. "And_ we _have a right to know what you were doing at a battle of the bands concert."

Willow's all frankness. "I was playing with my band."

Quinn can see the beginnings of a smile toying at Finn's lips. "And when was this?"

"Friday afternoon. We won, by the way. In case anybody cares."

"You were supposed to be at piano practice."

Willow shrugs. "Does it matter? It's still music."

"What instrument?"

Both Quinn and her daughter both turn to look at Finn like he's crazy.

"Drums."

He bursts out laughing, so hard that he scares the both of them, until Quinn turns to him sharply. "Finn, what is wrong with you?"

"I'm sorry, it's just that-"

Sensing that this conversation is not going to go her way, Quinn grabs her husband by the arm and leads him out the room, not before fixing her daughter with a deathly glare. "We're not done with this conversation."

Willow rolls her eyes at her boredly and shuts the door behind them.

* * *

"I can't believe you. What kind of authority are you supposed to have over her when- "

"Oh, come on, Quinn, I didn't mean... It's just, I used to play the drums in high school."

"No, you didn't."

"Yup. Before I met you."

"At your other school?"

"Yeah. I dropped it for football when I moved here." He pauses. "But sometimes I wish I'd kept going."

"No way, Finn. But you're so successful."

"I know, and I'm grateful for what I have, but-"

"If you'd been a drummer in a band, we would have never been together."

Finn raises his eyebrows. "Oh, really? You wouldn't have dated me?"

"Of course not."

"Why?"

"For the same reason I don't want Willow involved in that kind of thing."

"And what reason is that?"

"It's just not... Finn... What would my mother say?"

He laughs. "She would have had a heart attack. But I like to think you would have loved me anyway."

She wants to think so, too, but she's not so sure. Part of her love for Finn stems from the fact that he's so perfect for her, but she's not sure how big a part yet.

"I'm not going to tell her not to, Quinn."

For some reason, the past couple of days, her husband has been feeling like he's very far away.

* * *

Millie's unwrapping a large package that just came in the mail when Finn enters.

"What's that?"

"Running shoes," she says as she sets them on the kitchen table. Finn squints at them. "Yours?"

"No. Miss Quinn's."

They're cute, pale pink and neon orange with turquoise shoe laces, but not the kind of shoes his wife usually wears. She comes in, smiling brightly when she sees them on the counter. "Oh, they are nice, aren't they, Millie?"

Millie smiles back at her, it's impossible not to, and Finn puts an arm around her. "Very. Not your usual style, but nice nevertheless."

"They're totally my style, Finn, they're pink."

"No, what I mean is... you never wear sneakers."

"Yes, I do."

"Only when you go to gym."

"They're not for the gym. They're for the marathon."

"What marathon?"

"The university marathon."

A strangled noise escapes Finn's throat. "You're kidding, right?"

"Nope," says Quinn, flashing him a grin. "I signed up yesterday."

"But, Quinn, you don't even run."

"I run every day."

"Yeah, on a treadmill. That's not the same thing."

"It can't be that different."

"It kind of is."

"I'm sure I can handle it, Finn, I'm in good shape."

"I know you are, but-"

"You're acting like I'm some sort of fat, lazy housewife. Do you not want me to go or something?"

"No, Quinn. I'd love it if you came, actually. I just want you to know what you're getting yourself into."

"I do."

"OK."

"OK."

* * *

Finn's words linger on her mind for days. She usually hates admitting when she's wrong, but her husband is so gracious that it's never too difficult to admit things to him.

"Finn, do you think I need a personal trainer?"

"A personal trainer? What for?"

"For the marathon."

"Quinn, the marathon is like a week away."

"I know, but, I don't know, what if you're right and-"

"Oh, honey, I'm sorry if I put doubts in your head."

"It's not that, I mean, you might be right, and-"

"You can still back out of it if you want."

"No. I wanna commit to something, for once in my life."

His face twists into a proud gesture. "OK, then. If you really want to, I can train you myself."

"Really?", she gasps, surprised but delighted. "Why didn't I think of that?" Then her face falls. "Oh, but Finn, not in the mornings."

"Why not?"

"I can't get up that early."

He laughs. "I can talk to Coach Nolan about letting me out early next week. We can do it then."

Quinn hugs her husband, and he's struck by how atypical it is, her initiating physical contact.

"I love you, Quinn."

"I love you, too."

* * *

Finn enters Willow's room late at night, when his wife is asleep but when he knows his daughter will be awake. She is, on her laptop, wearing the headphones that make her head look three sizes too big. She looks up at her father, wide-eyed, and Finn sits down at the foot of her bed as she takes off her headphones.

"So, I think I owe you an explanation."

Willow rolls her eyes. "You're not supposed to explain things to me, you're my father."

"Which is exactly why I need to explain things to you."

"OK. Go on."

"So, about the rock band-"

"I was wondering when that was gonna come up. Did mamma send you?"

"Shhh, Willow. Hear me out."

"Sorry. Go on."

"The reason I laughed so hard when you brought up the drums is that I used to play when I was younger."

"You?"

He laughs. "That hard to believe, huh?"

She squints at him, trying to picture it. "Yeah."

He squints back. "Honestly, I have just as hard a time picturing you playing them."

They grin at each other. "Who taught you?"

"Friends. You?"

"Life."

"Were you in a band?"

"No. I was in glee club."

Willow snorts. "Oh, it all makes sense now."

Finn laughs. "Does it?"

"No. I can't picture you as a geek either."

"What's the name of your band?"

"Fossil Fuel."

"Very cool."

"Thanks. I picked it out myself."

"I figured."

"So you're not gonna make me drop it?"

He sighs. "I talked to your mother about it."

"And?"

"Do you even have to ask?"

"She doesn't want me to be in it, I know."

"Is it important to you?"

"Daddy, no one who doesn't think music isn't important starts a band."

He nods. "You are going to have to be on your best behavior."

Willow nods eagerly.

"That means being nice to your mother."

"Yeah, OK."

"I know you think this is because of me, but it's not. If your mother hadn't agreed, you wouldn't be doing it."

"I understand. Can I take my car to practice?"

"Your mother's car. And only if you ask her first."

"But she doesn't even-"

"I don't care, it's still hers."

"You think she'll ever be able to drive it?"

"Yes," he says, and his voice is unwavering.

They look at each other, and he's struck by the bittersweet look on his daughter's face, identical to Quinn's. "What is it?"

"I feel like you're letting me grow up."

"Isn't that what you want? Isn't that what every teenager wants?"

Willow nods resolutely. "Yes. I just didn't think it would happen so soon."

"So you'd rather stay a little girl?"

Willow smiles. "You know that's impossible, Daddy. Even if you wanted me to."

"I don't. Believe it or not, it's your mother who's struggling with it."

"Yes. Mamma always loved the little me more than the actual me."

"The little you was a lot nicer to her."

She sighs. "I'm gonna try."

"Good."

* * *

She's getting dinner on the table the next day when Finn comes home and plops down on a chair, discouraged.

"Rough day?"

"Yeah."

"Really?", she asks, surprised. It's not like her husband to ever complain about anything, but on the rare occasion he does, it's monosyllabic, and makes Quinn feel guilty for her long, ungrateful rants. "What happened?"

"It's off."

"What's off?"

"The marathon. Coach doesn't want me to run."

"What? Why?"

"Same reason you didn't. He thinks I might injure myself. Threatened to bench next game if I went through with it."

"Oh. I'm sorry, Finn."

"Yeah, it sucks. I was really looking forward to it."

"You were?"

"Yeah, since I found out you were gonna run, too."

They smile at each other sadly.

"Can't you do it without him finding out?"

Finn laughs. "Oh, I wish. He's even making me come in from dusk 'til dawn next week, to make sure I'm not up to something."

"Which means you won't be able to train me."

It dawns on Quinn just then, that there is no way she's going to do this now, that she doesn't even want to, and here's the perfect excuse. But her husband, as always, thinks about everything.

"Don't worry, Quinn. I know how bad you wanted to do this, so I found you a coach."

She cannot discern if there is a teasing tone to his voice, but supposes it doesn't really matter. Saying she doesn't want to, saying she never did, would be disappointing Finn, who no doubt remembers how passionately she spoke of it before. "OK," she says, attempting to hide her dismay.

"But it's gonna have to be in the mornings."

"Huh?"

"Your training. It's gonna have to be in the mornings."

"That's fine," she says absentmindedly, wondering if there is a way she still can quit without letting her husband down.

* * *

Finn drops her off a quarter to six by the roundabout circle where he starts his runs each morning. Santana is already waiting there, stretching, and she waves at Finn as he drives off.

Quinn rubs her eyes tiredly and squints at Santana. "Why did you say yes?"

"I couldn't say no to your husband."

Quinn sighs. "You're not the only one."

Santana half smiles and Quinn sighs again. "Either way, I'm sorry. You were probably hoping I was going to say no."

"Quite the opposite, actually."

Quinn bends over to tie her shoelaces so she won't have to look into Santana's eyes and yawns. "How can you get up at this hour?"

"You'll see."

Santana pulls her headphones over her ears and starts jogging. "Let's see if you can keep up with me."

Quinn drags her feet heavily, already feeling exhausted, until Santana stops in her tracks and glances back at her. "Quinn, look around you." So she does.

She doesn't think she's ever been outside this early before. The moon is still up in the sky, huge and yellow, and for a moment she thinks it is the sun, only everything is still dark. It's interesting, waking up to this, seeing the world alive before the sun even rises, the concept that life moves, even without it.

Workers are already mowing lawns and watering plants, and for a moment she feels ashamed of herself, that she never knew this happened quite so early, and for the first time, wonders what time Millie has to get up in the morning. It's another universe, where none of the rules she knows exist, something that has existed beyond the thick drapes of her room all along, and she never knew.

_Why didn't Finn ever tell me? _

But what was there, to tell?

_Quinn, life is worth living, even at six in the morning. There are people out there already, being, working, moving. You could be one of them, if you wanted._

Or,_ Quinn, there are beautiful sunrises, purple and pale blue and yellow, and you're never, ever seen one in your life, but you could if you wanted, even just once._

So she stops to take it all in, and Santana stops next to her. Quinn watches the sunrise, and Santana, who's seen hundreds of them, finds the whole thing fascinating again, reflected in Quinn's golden eyes.


	14. Chapter 14

"Ugh, I'm so glad this is the last day I have to get up early."

She doesn't even mean it. She's enjoyed the stillness of these mornings, but she will never get up this early again, because she doesn't think they'll ever feel quite like this if she's not with Santana.

"You still have to get up early tomorrow. Everyone will be there to cheer you on."

She's right, though Quinn doesn't know where she heard it; Finn's organized a reception committee made up of all their friends and family.

"I'll probably be last, but at least I'll have someone waiting for me to cross the finish line."

"I'll probably be first, and I'll have no one."

"What about Sam and Jaeger?"

Santana scoffs. "Sam would never get up that early. And Jaeger has school. I don't want him missing on account of me." She pauses. "You're not gonna be last and you know it."

"Middle of the pack, maybe?"

"That sounds about right."

"And you?"

"I'd be lying if I said I'm gonna be happy with anything but first."

Quinn nods. "That sounds about right, too."

"So, tomorrow, we go back to being strangers?"

"We are strangers, Santana."

* * *

She reties her shoelaces again and again, trying not to glance at Santana. She's stretching near the front of the pack, and true to their word, they haven't shared a single sentence or glance since this whole thing began. The gun goes off and Quinn immediately begins feeling breathless, not to mention stupid for even doing this in the first place. She knows her family is there, but she feels so alone and realizes she is, that there is nothing or no one that's going to get her out of this except herself and her guts. She tries to pick up speed, but a dense fog is descending upon them, and the further she runs, the thicker it gets.

After fifteen minutes, Quinn's lost sight of the other runners, all vanished in a mist that's starting to tickle at her throat and eyes. The fog is so dense she can't see her own feet, and the blood pounding in her ears won't let her hear what she supposes must be the continuous shouting of her name from the sidelines.  
She slips on her headphones and turns the volume on her phone all the way up, but the music she loves dancing to only makes her nervous, makes her wish she was in the studio doing what she's suited for and not this, anything but this.  
The pink running shoes feel like weights on her feet, and she's glad she can't see what must be a mixture of blood and mud on them; she's certain they won't be any good after today.  
What was she thinking, believing she could do this, when nearly two hours have passed and time is ticking slow in her head, and probably even slower in real life. She has a seat on the sidewalk and knows she won't finish, but maybe if she shuts her eyes and then opens them she'll wake up somewhere else, like she used to be able to do when she was a child, dreaming.  
Her cell phone rings and she picks up, wanting to laugh because who would be calling her now, like some cruel joke that makes perfect sense given the circumstances.

"Where are you?"

She looks around, but for all the growing up she did on these streets she doesn't know them, not under this fog.

"I don't know."

"Close or far?"

"I don't know."

"Are you still running?"

"I'm not gonna make it."

"You have to. Everybody's waiting for you."

"But it's starting to rain."

"So hurry."

She walks instead, her legs on the verge of giving out until she sees her, leaning against the trunk of a tree, waiting.

"How much longer?"

"Fifteen meters."

They jog to it together, and a couple of meters before it's over, Santana opens a water bottle and pours it down her head with a grin. "Good job," she says as she picks up speed.

"Wait. Where are you going?"

"Home."

* * *

She's wrapped in a million arms and legs, Finn, her parents, her children, even Puck and Millie are there, because Finn really does think of everything. She's gasping for air and then Finn's picking her up and she doesn't know anyone or anything until hours later, when she finds herself in her own bed, her husband beside her, her feet bandaged.

"Did I dream it all?"

He smiles. "No. It happened."

She gasps. "I finished?"

"Yup."

"Oh, Finn, I thought I was gonna faint, I was so afraid."

"I know you were. But you did it."

* * *

She dozes in and out of sleep, asking questions that Finn answers patiently each time.

_Where am I? _

_Was it real?_

_Was I last?_

One of these seems particularly important, and she picks up her head groggily and turns to her husband when it forms on her lips.

"Who won?"

"What?"

"The marathon. Who won?"

"Some guy from the university."

"You mean Santana didn't..."

He looks at her with a concerned frown. "Quinn, you don't remember? She walked you to the end."

"No, I remember, I just... you mean she wasn't finished?"

Finn shakes his head. "She stopped a couple meters from the finish line and waited. She was a good minute ahead of the guy who won." 

* * *

When she wakes up again, the house sounds empty, but it only takes her a minute to hear the peals of laughter coming from down the hall. She smiles, wondering what her children are up to now. She looks for them in every room in the house, until the only one left is Willow's, where she can hear their hushed voices behind the door. Something must be going on, they never play in her room, and when she tries the door, it's locked. Her kids are usually not the kind to make mischief, not Elliott or Daisy, at least, but they're definitely up to something now. She knocks on the door, expecting to be greeted with at least some mild form of enthusiasm, but instead, Daisy only opens it a crack. She smiles sweetly at her mother.

"Hi, baby. Can I come in?"

"Don't think so."

"Why not?"

"Cause they said you couldn't."

"Who's they?"

"Willow and Elliott."

She can hear Willow's voice from the other side of the room. "Daisy, shut up."

"What are you guys doing, Daisy?"

"Just playin'."

"Playing what?"

"I can't tell you."

Quinn raises her voice. "Willow, what's going on in there?"

Her daughter's voice echoes across the room. "Whatever it is, can it really be that terrible?"

Quinn's opening her mouth to form a reply when she's pushed back by Finn, who's come out of from behind her to tackle Daisy, opening the door wide and landing them both on the bed.

Inside, Willow is sitting in front of her dresser mirror, her hair pulled into multiple pigtails. Elliott is standing in front of her, an uncapped lipstick tube in hand.

Quinn frowns at them. "What in the world are you guys doing?"

"Makeovers," Daisy pipes up, untangling herself from Finn on the bed.

"And you couldn't let your mother see this because...?"

"Because they're using Daisy's makeup kit and I told Elliott I didn't want him playing with her toys."

There is dead, dull noise in the room, and Willow wants to break it, but remembers what she promised her father. Finn glances at Quinn. "Hon, you can't-"

"I told him not to, Finn."

"But why?"

"It doesn't matter why, what matters is that I gave an order and he disobeyed it."

Before anyone can say anything else, Elliott is running out of the room, his sisters racing after him. Finn sighs.

"Really, Quinn?"

"You can't possibly tell me you like it that he plays with Daisy's toys."

"No, I don't like it, but I don't see what the harm is in-"

"No. What if he-"

"What if he what? Turns out to be gay?"

"Finn! Don't say that! He's your son!"

"Exactly my point, Quinn. He's your son."

* * *

Dinner is an awkward affair, and it's Daisy, who doesn't know any better, who breaks the silence.

"We in trouble?"

"_You_ aren't. Your brother and sister, we'll see."

Elliott frowns. "Why is Willow in trouble? She didn't do anything."

Willow glances at her brother. "Hush, El."

"She's in trouble because she's encouraging you to do something I told you not to do."

Willow bites back a more vicious remark, but won't settle for being quiet. "And what is that, mom?"

"Play with girl's toys," says Elliott quietly, mustering the courage to say something else, and finally looking up from his food and at his mother. "Mommy, Jaeger's mom says that there are really no toys for boys and no toys for girls."

Quinn raises her eyebrows. "You talked to her about this? When?"

"During our vacation." How many things, Quinn wonders, went on in that vacation that she knows nothing about?

"Well, Santana is wrong."

"But mommy, she said-"

"I don't care what she said, Elliott, and neither should you, because she's not your mother."

* * *

She hasn't seen Quinn since the marathon, has purposely been avoiding taking Jaeger to dance class in case she should be asked about her behavior, which, to be quite honest, is something that up until today not even she understands.

She doesn't expect, never expects, Quinn to cut to the chase and come find her, but that's exactly what she does, one day at the gym, when she's alone in the locker room. Santana finds her eyes, flashing and fiery, and tries not to smile.

"Hey."

"Hey."

"So..."

"So I would appreciate it if you stopped meddling into my family's affairs."

The forcefulness in her voice is halting, and Santana, who was expecting comradery or complicity, feels her voice weak and dismayed by comparison.

"What?"

"I don't know who you think you are to be talking to my son about... I thought I was perfectly clear the other day when I told you. We aren't friends."

"I'm aware of that."

"Then stop acting like-"

"You should have said that to me the day you were tripping over your own feet."

"I never asked you to wait for me," says Quinn, trying very hard to override the memories of that fog, that fear, and Santana standing at the end of it, parting them."That's the problem with you, you're always doing things nobody asked you to do."

Santana sighs. "He's a little boy. He was upset. I was just trying to-"

"You're right, he's a little boy and that's exactly what I'm trying to encourage him to grow up as."

"The fact that he wants to play with a fucking oven isn't going to change that."

"We obviously have different opinions on what parenting entails, Santana, and honestly, I'm not asking for your advice. I've been a parent for a lot longer than you have, and frankly, if my children were anything like your son, I'd be keeping my opinions to myself."

Santana, who in spite of everything is rather proud of how her son's turned out, feels more injured by this than she would have felt if Quinn had said practically anything else in the world.

Quinn seems to realize she's said something severe, because she reaches out her hand, almost as if to touch her, but Santana backs away.

"It's fine, Quinn. I promise you won't have to deal with either me or my child ever again."

* * *

She's feeling depressed. She blames the fact that Finn's gone again, halfway across the country. The truth is, she can't blame Elliott for not being able to sleep, because she has terrible insomnia when Finn's not home. She stays up most nights, mindlessly watching TV, which does nothing to help her overall mood. This sadness, though, is different than the one she's used to, not sharp at the pit of her stomach like panic, but a general, dull thing that sucks the color out of everything.

The kids are at her parent's, except for Willow, who has promised to give her a ride to ballet class when she's back from band practice, because it's been raining the whole day. Quinn grabs her stuff and sits in the foyer until it becomes evident that her daughter is not going to show up. She calls her cellphone and receives no answer. It is too late to cancel, too late to call Puck, too late to do anything, even walk, if she were to chance it in this pouring storm. She's never been a good decision-maker, and so she does what she always does when she doesn't know what to do.

"Finn?"

She can hear the sigh in his voice as he picks up. "Yeah, Quinn?"

"Finn, Willow was supposed to take me to dance class and she's not here."

"Have you called her cell?"

"Yeah, she's not picking up."

"Practice probably ran late."

"She acts like she's the only one who has important things to do."

"I'm sorry, Quinn." He pauses while he tries to think of a solution."Why don't you take the SUV?"

"What do you mean take the SUV? Oh. You mean like, drive myself there?"

"Yeah. You know how to drive now."

"Finn..."

"You know what to do. You know exactly how the car works. You just have to get over your fear. It's just a machine, it's an extension of you. It does whatever you tell it to."

Quinn's silent.

"You can do it, babe, I know you can."

"If you were here, you could drive me."

"Quinn, honey, I'm kind of busy right now, this is crazy, all you need to do is-"

"No, yeah, you're right. I'll be fine."

"What?"

"I'm gonna do it. Nothing's gonna happen to me."

"That's the spirit. You'll see. It'll be over before you know it."

* * *

She's never driven in the rain before, and she's only a couple of blocks along before she realizes it might not have been the best idea. It's not that it's any more difficult, it just makes her more anxious, to the point where nervous tears start welling up in her eyes and then she really can't see at all.

A car coming on the opposite lane flashes its lights at her, and she doesn't know what she's doing wrong, then sees, on her lane, a squirrel, trying to cross the road. She could just swerve, but it's raining, and all she can think of doing is pressing the brake like Finn told her. She hears the skidding on the pavement and it takes her a few seconds to realize it's coming from her own vehicle; the other one is long gone. She pushes on the brakes frantically, but it's no good, the car doesn't stop until it crashes into a nearby tree, and then it turns off.

Tears are flowing down her face freely. She knows she should get out, see what happened to the car, but she's terrified of stepping out and finding that she did run over that squirrel after all. A dead, bleeding body is more than she can bear to think of right now, and sobbing, she phones Finn.

"Quinn? Quinn, what is it?"

"I crashed the SUV."

"Oh, my God, are you all right?"

"Yeah."

"Is anybody hurt?"

"No. I don't know."

"What do you mean you don't know?"

"I might have killed a squirrel."

"Oh, that's all right, I thought-"

But Quinn only starts sobbing harder. "It's not OK, why do you think it's OK?"

"It's just an animal, they-"

"Why do we do this?" Quinn wails.

"Do what?"

"Why do we drive in cars? Why do we have these horrible machines that make it so easy for us to hurt others?"

"Quinn-"

"No, I'm serious, Finn."

"Honey, that's not for us to question. It's just how the world works. You can't stop and wonder about every little thing, because then you stop living life."

"Maybe I don't want to live life."

"Don't be ridiculous, Quinn. Now, what you're going to do, after we hang up, is call the insurance company. The number is on speed dial on your phone, and they're gonna come get you and everything's gonna be fine, all right?"

"Yes, Finn."

She hangs up and gets ready to dial when a fresh wave of tears overtakes her. She gives into it easily, wondering when Finn stopped being enough to quench them.

* * *

It's raining, like it was the day of the marathon, and there's a song, playing over and over on her stereo, reminding her of things she can't forget, things she seems to think about more frequently now that she knows she shouldn't. The whole day makes her feel like curling up in bed with her headphones under the covers like she did when she was a teenager, and maybe she will. She's dropped off Jaeger at a friend's house and she doesn't have to go get him until nine, and maybe she'll do it, though it would be a colossal waste of her time and she never wastes time, but maybe just this once, she can give herself permission to do it.

The streets are empty, she's figured out people here don't like to go out in the rain, which is odd because there's nothing she likes better; she remembers long drives across the country, under the pouring water, her heart light because she was headed to the only place, the only person that was home.

There is a silver SUV crashed into a tree trunk, smoke billowing out from under the smashed hood. Whatever happened, it looks like it just did, and she parks her truck right behind it, wanting to see for herself before calling 911.

She knocks on the driver's window, and her eyes meet Quinn's welling copper ones when it rolls down. Like she needed to get herself into deeper shit than she already was.


	15. Chapter 15

**So, after reading the reviews, I know you guys have a lot of questions, and I really wish I could answer them, but I don't want to spoil anything or ruin the whole thing by over-explaining. I promise all questions will be answered in the story, when it comes to that point. Thank you so much to the people who have favorited and followed, and to those of you who take the time to write such nice things... I was thinking the other day about how I was so hesitant to start posting this, and now it's one of the highlights of my week...**

* * *

They're driving in the rain and no one says anything. Quinn doesn't even know where they're going, she's too rattled to care. She's also too rattled to notice, until a while has passed, that there is a song on replay, that it has been on ever since she got in the car. She hasn't heard this song in a while, and yet, somehow, it feels like it's settled just above her ribs, and underneath her heart.

"I love that song," she whispers absently, and Santana stiffens like she, too, just realized it was on replay, and Quinn knows why. It's the song she was dancing to, that day, the one she hasn't had the courage to listen to since, but that Santana has obviously been replaying, like a curse, over and over again.

* * *

The Evans' house is large and distinguished, though Quinn sees none of Santana in it; even the furniture has an air of having been picked by a designer. She doesn't know what she pictured, maybe a house without furniture at all, and it's obvious Santana doesn't feel any more comfortable in it than she does, by the way she leads her into the kitchen instead of the living room.

Quinn sits at the kitchen table as Santana boils something on the stove. Quinn thinks it's probably tea, to calm her nerves, but it's hot chocolate, and the scent does more for her mood than any herb would have. Santana sets a cup in front of her, and Quinn sniffs the air without picking it up, almost like a child. Santana sits down across from her. "What happened?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

"Well, yeah, but.. why d'you lose control?"

"There was a squirrel."

"Oh. Did it die?"

"I don't know. I... I should have checked but... I was too much of a coward. I'm too much of a coward to do anything. I'm afraid to even drive a couple of blocks. And the very thing I was so afraid of is exactly what happened."

"It sucks, doesn't it?"

"What?"

"That getting behind the wheel means you have the power to kill anyone or anything, and nobody will give a fuck."

"But, Santana... you drive such a huge truck."

Santana laughs. "It's not without it's guilt, believe me."

"Is it Sam's?"

Santana snorts. "No. Sam owns a sports car." She pauses. "Why did you do it if you were afraid?"

"Well, Finn said I could, and..."

"He made you do it?"

"No, he just... he's tired of me not being able to drive, I guess."

Santana gestures to Quinn's hot chocolate. "You're not gonna drink that?"

"No, thank you."

Santana shrugs. "OK." She gets up. "I'm gonna go change into something dry. You can.." she gestures toward the living room "look around, if you'd like."

She doesn't want to, even though she's bursting with curiosity to see Santana's house, but feels somehow like it would be a double-edged sword.

Santana is gone and she feels stupid here, alone in the kitchen, so she moves onto the living room and sits down on a plush leather couch identical to the one they have at home, hoping she won't get it too wet. She dozes off almost right away, body half-way draped across one of the armrests. Santana comes in and finds her like this, and suddenly, the room doesn't seem that hideous anymore.

Quinn wakes up god knows how many hours later, and finds Santana at the kitchen table, pouring over some books. She shuts them and quickly puts them away when she notices Quinn, as if she had caught her doing something she shouldn't.

There is a clean change of clothes on the table, and she pushes them toward her. "For you."

But Quinn shakes her head. "No, thank you."

"You sure? You're soaking wet."

"Yeah. I... I should get home."

* * *

Santana drops her off in front of her house. Quinn has convinced her parents to keep Elliott and Daisy for the night, and expects Willow to be home already, but by the lack of lights coming from inside, she guesses she's not.

They never lock their door, it's unnecessary in this neighborhood, but as Quinn walks inside she thinks that maybe they should, because there is noise coming from the living room, and she almost wants to go outside and call Santana back.

"Hello?", she calls out tentatively, and almost immediately sees two figures scampering off the couch. "Oh, shit."

She stares at her daughter and a boy she's never seen before, thankfully not unclothed but on their way to being there. She brings a hand to her forehead, a headache beginning already, and glances at the panic-stricken teenager.

"Let me guess. Axel Fisher?"

* * *

Two unpleasant events in one day. She'd call Finn, but she's now wasted the one-call-a-day quota she imposed on herself after her mother told her any more than that would make her seem psychotic.

The phone rings and she picks up immediately, hoping it's him, but instead, she hears another now familiar voice over the phone.

"Hey. How are you?"

"Uh, all right, thanks."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. I'm good."

"OK. I just wanted to make sure. Your neck's not hurting? No headaches or anything?"

Quinn sighs. "Actually, I do have a headache. But I'm pretty sure it's not from the crash."

Santana waits for her to elaborate.

"I... it was just a hard day. From start to finish."

"I'm sorry."

"It's fine. I always have a hard time when Finn's away."

Santana wants to say she knows, not because she understands, but because it reminds her of Finn's original plea, the one from when they first met.

"Hey, listen, Quinn, I... do you wanna come over tomorrow?"

"Come over? To your house?"

"Yeah."

"What for?"

"I don't know. We could have coffee or something?"

She has the no on the tip of her tongue, but surprises herself by saying yes. Santana seems surprised by it, too.

"OK. I'll pick you up at ten?"

She never gets up at ten, but doesn't even flinch. "Yeah. See you then."

* * *

She wakes up to the sound of the phone ringing, and jumps up, startled. She fell asleep, finally, after a long night of tossing and turning, and this must be Santana, calling because she's already outside waiting, but no, it's just Finn.

"Hey, hon."

"Hey."

"I called last night, but the line was busy."

"It was?"

"Yeah. Were you talking to Kitty?"

Quinn's brain still feels foggy, and she doesn't know whether to lie or tell the truth, so she doesn't do either. "Finn, I found Willow alone with a boy here yesterday."  
Finn is silent, as if trying to take the implications of this in.

"I told you letting her be in that band was going to bring nothing but trouble, no wonder she didn't pick me up, she was too busy-"

"Quinn, you need to calm down. Have you talked to her?"

"Talked to her about what? I told her to go to her room and not come out until Monday morning when she has to go to school."

"Hon-"

"What do you want me to say to her, Finn? That what she did was wrong? She knows it was, why do you think she was doing it here alone in the dark?"

Finn sighs.

"What are we gonna do, Finn?"

"I don't know, hon. I guess we'll figure it out when I get home."

* * *

There's coffee and tea and juice and fresh fruit at Santana's, and Quinn doesn't know how, because she doesn't even see a maid around. Santana hands her a cup, and she takes it and smells it, but then sets her down on the table without drinking. Santana raises her eyebrows, but says nothing. She offers Quinn a plate for fruit, but she shakes her head. "No, thank you. Anyways, so then I walk inside, and there she is on the couch, half-naked, making out with some kid named Axel Fisher."

Santana laughs. "How do you know his name? Did he introduce himself after he pulled up his pants?"

Quinn rolls her eyes. "No. I know his name because I don't know his name."

"Oh, you mean he wasn't a Lexington or a Fowler?"

"Sadly, no."

"So you wouldn't have minded if he had been?"

"A Lexington or a Fowler wouldn't have been caught dead doing something like that."

"You're right. They'd do it, they'd just know better than to get caught."

"That was not what I meant."

"I know it wasn't."

"I don't see what's wrong with me wanting her to date boys that come from respectable families."

"Well, then you're not upset about what she did, you're just upset about who she did it with."

"Of course I'm upset about what she did. She's too young to be dating, Fowler or not."

"How old were you when you had her?"

"Twenty. Not much older than she is now, really. You think I'm being a hypocrite?"

Santana shrugs. "I thought my opinions on parenting were of no interest to you."

Quinn flushes. "I didn't really mean-"

But Santana laughs. "Yes, you did."

"OK, maybe I did but..."

"But?"

"But I wanna know what you think now."

"What does Finn think?"

Quinn sighs. "I don't know. I told him about it this morning, but... I think he's got too many things on his mind."

"Well, it's kind of a personal choice, isn't it? Some parents let their kids date at a younger age than others."

"But dating is one thing, Santana, and what Willow was doing on that couch was not that."

Santana shrugs. "I mean, she's young, of course she's experimenting-"

"Yeah, well, I don't believe in experimenting."

Santana laughs again. "Of course you don't. So, you actually expect her to... I don't know, wait until she's married or something?"

"You say it like it's a bad thing."

"It's not. It's just kind of unrealistic, isn't it?"

"I was a virgin when I got married. Weren't you?"

"Obviously not, seeing as though I'm not even married."

"Oh. Right. Well, was Sam your first?"

"No, of course not." She smiles a little at the surprised look on Quinn's face. "And there's nothing wrong with that. I hope you know that."

Quinn sighs. "I just... I don't want Willow to.. It's just, I think back to it and I feel like I was a child when Finn and I first started..."

"Quinn, you're always a child when you do that, no matter what age you are."

* * *

There is a note in Santana's mailbox that afternoon, in a tiny handwriting that she thinks she could bring herself to love. It's Quinn, inviting her over for coffee the next morning, and for some reason, the whole thing makes Santana laugh, so hard that the noise reverberates around the whole house and wakes Jaeger, who runs straight into his mother's arms, wanting to know what the joke is.

* * *

"So, how did you and Sam meet?"

Santana raises her eyebrows. "Are you asking just to ask, or you really don't know?"

"I-"

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean... It's not you in particular, just... people here seem to be all up in my business. I think sometimes they know things before I've even thought of them."

She sighs. "Anyway, we met in college. Sam was a sports medicine major and he needed help with his biology. I was tutoring students to make extra cash, so... that was how we met."

"See, I didn't know all that. I just knew you guys met in school." She pauses. "I never knew what Sam actually studied. It's crazy to think about, I forget sometimes that they all have actual degrees."

"What's Finn's?"

"Education."

Santana laughs. "I should have guessed. It suits him." She grabs the backpack she brought with her from the floor, opens it and pulls out a bar of white chocolate, which she promptly unwraps and splits in half, one of which she gives to Quinn. She stares at it curiously and holds it up to her nose.

"Do you always smell everything?"

"What?"

"You're always smelling things, like you think I'm gonna poison you or something."

Quinn laughs nervously. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize I was doing it." She nibbles on a corner of the chocolate bar and then sets it down on the table and Santana smiles. At least it's a start.

They look at each other like they don't know where else to look, and then Santana spots a stack of papers on the other end of the couch. "You working on something?"

"Kind of."

"What?"

"Oh, nothing, really. Just some papers for this year's anti-abortion campaign."

"Seriously? You're into that shit?"

"I was gonna ask if you wanted to help out, actually. We all do it, all of the wives from the football team."

"Really?"

Quinn looks at her defensively. "Yeah, why?"

"No, it's nothing, it's just... you guys seem to spend a lot of time worrying about things other people do. Why do you care so much? It's none of your business."

"Wait. Are you saying you're pro-abortion?"

"I'm not saying anything, all I'm saying is I don't see why-"

"You don't see why I want to rescue an innocent baby from dying?"

Santana sighs. "We're never gonna agree on this, so let's just not even go there."

"No, let's."

"Quinn, look, I should go."

Quinn looks slightly affronted, so Santana reaches an arm across the table and rests her fingertips against the back of Quinn's hand lightly. "I'm having a great time, and I'm glad you asked me to come, but I have a lot of shit to do."

"You do?"

"Yeah."

"Like around the house and stuff?"

"You could say that, yeah."

"I could come over and help you. If you want."

A rare smile slowly spreads over Santana's face, but she's shaking her head. "I... I'd love it if you came, but... actually, I'm going on a trip."

Quinn frowns. "A trip? Where?"

Santana fixes her eyes on her and Quinn blushes. "I'm sorry, it's none of my business."

"It's fine."

"Is Jaeger going with you?"

"Yeah."

"Will you be long?"

"Nah. I should be back by Monday."

* * *

The next couple of days seem oddly lonely, though they're nothing out of the ordinary in relation to her real life. She remembers, before she married Finn, a constant feeling of expectation, of waiting. She couldn't wait, to get married, to move out of her parent's house, to be a mother, for her wedding, for her honeymoon. But it's been years now since she's waited for anything, because what do you wait for when your life has gone exactly as planned?

And yet she can't deny that, maybe unconsciously, she had wanted, had hoped, that one day there would be more to her life than this, something to make it vivid. But she had never thought it'd really happen. And now, here she is, waiting again, with a feeling that makes her dizzy and nervous, because she doesn't know what she's waiting for, exactly, only that she wants it so badly to happen.

She goes online one afternoon, to upload new pictures on her Facebook profile, of their vacation to Denver. Her whole profile is an album of the life of her family and her marriage, and looking through it makes her wonder what she could possibly be looking for when she has all this. There are new pictures of her friends, and of her family, and of her cousin May's wedding, which she couldn't go to because she was in Denver. May looks so happy, posing with her husband, that Quinn thinks bitterly to herself _You'll be divorced within a year_, then wonders how many people thought that about her and Finn, and yet here they are.

She brags about it all the time, sixteen years of marriage, but what's there to brag about, really, in having been married all this time, if it's all been like this? Not particularly difficult, but not much else either, like she was just waiting for more years to add to its resume, like an endurance test. What comes after you get what you always wanted?

* * *

The trip to Chicago succeeded in doing exactly what she meant it to; it has, almost completely, taken Quinn off her mind. True, as soon as she has her hands on what she wanted, she can't wait to go back home, and for the first time ever she can't wait to get rid of Jaeger either, so even though they get home late at night, she ships him off to school bright and early the next day.

She moves the microscope out of his room and into the dining room, where there's better light. She also drags out one of Jaeger's huge speakers from under his bed and plugs it in nearby. She's fucking sick of the slow songs that have been roaming her mind for days, so she puts on some heavy metal to block them out, hopefully forever. If she had this, all the time, loud music and new samples, and a microscope smack in the middle of the dining room table like a fruit bowl, maybe she wouldn't need love songs at all.

* * *

She'd be lying if she said she hasn't walked past Santana's house every day on her daily morning walk. It's a longer way, but she doesn't mind, although she knows it's pointless, staring at an empty house. It seems odd, all of sudden, such a huge house for only three people, two when Sam is gone, which is a lot of the time. The houses they live in, she realizes with a start, are too big even for her family of five, and maybe that's why they always feel so empty.

This morning, though, the house isn't dark and foreboding, there's actually light shining out from within, and, yeah, they're back just the day Santana said they'd be. She fights the urge to go knock on the door, but then thinks better of it, because she never does whatever she wants and maybe this is the time to start doing it.

She hears the loud rock music blasting from inside before she even makes it to the door and she frowns, wondering if Jaeger is home. Her knocks, obviously, go unheard, but when she tries the door she finds it, as expected, unlocked.

She walks straight into the dining room, thinking she'll find Jaeger dancing on the dining room table or something of the sort, but instead finds Santana, pouring over a microscope as her foot drums rhythmically against the floor. It's so amusing it makes her smile, and then giggle, and then Santana's turning around and looking at her with such a mortified expression that it sends her into the most unexpected peals of laughter. Santana smiles, it's a relief to know that this woman can laugh, too. Quinn gets herself under control and manages to gasp out.

"I didn't take you for a rock fan."

Santana turns the volume on her ipod down. "It's all I listen to."

"Not true."

They look at each other, and Santana clears her throat. "So, to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?"

Quinn shrugs. "I was passing by."

"Passing by on your way to where?"

"Passing by on my morning walk, all right?"

Santana grins. "All right."

Quinn's trying to stare everywhere but at Santana, and her eyes land on the microscope.

"What's that?"

Santana turns to look at it too, and sighs. "It's a microscope."

"Well, duh. But what's it doing there?"

"I was, uh, working on some stuff."

"I thought you... didn't work anymore?"

"I don't. This is just something I do... for fun."

There's contained passion, and an inability in those words to explain accurately how something you love doing is not just fun, but everything, and Quinn has a flashback of a little girl, dressed as a ballerina, putting on a performance in front of a room full of stuffed animals and dolls, and thinks that even though she's almost forty, maybe not much has changed at all. She tries to think of a way to convey all this, but she's so unaccustomed to speaking of such things that they all die flat on her lips.

"Oh."

"Yeah."

They look at each other awkwardly, and finally both of them have a seat at the table.

"How was your trip?"

"Good."

"Care to elaborate?"

"I... got what I went for."

"Where did you go?"

"Chicago."

"Wow. Is that where you grew up?" She always pictured Santana in a big city, somewhere up north, where it was cold.

"I didn't really grow up anywhere."

"Everybody grew up somewhere."

Santana shakes her head. "We moved around too much. But I guess Chicago's where we spent the most time."

"So why did you go back?"

"I, uh, a couple of reasons, but mostly... I had some stuff to do at the university."

Quinn, who isn't in the mood to pry, gestures to the microscope instead. "So, what are you looking at?"

Santana smiles, glad for the change of subject. "It's a firefly. A new kind that was just discovered by the University of Chicago."

"I thought fireflies didn't exist anymore."

Santana grins. "Why, cause too many kids caught them in jars?"

"Were you one of those kids?"

"Of course."

"You went all the way to Chicago to get this?"

"Yup."

They look at each other, and Santana knows she gets it. They have something in common, they both loved something since they were children, they understand each other's passion for something you have carried close to your heart for so long, that has accompanied you every step of the way and been your choice, all you.

"I'd appreciate if you didn't tell Sam about it. He doesn't..."

"Understand?"

"He doesn't only not understand, he fucking hates it."

"Why?"

Santana shrugs. "Beats me. Never really asked him. Because it's the one thing I like, I guess."

"What is it you studied, again?"

"Biochemistry."

Barbie makes a face. "I hated chemistry in high school."

Santana laughs. "Chemistry's all right. It's the bio that's exciting."

"Bio means life, right?"

"Yeah."

"So... the chemistry of life?"

"Yup."

"It sounds a lot better than it probably is."

"Oh, words can't even convey half of it." She pauses. "Or maybe they can. Bio means life. And I guess I've just always been in love with it."


	16. Chapter 16

**So, lots of comments/questions in the reviews this week...**

**Uh, I love the idea of Santana singing, I didn't think about it before, but I'll see if I can work into this somehow, though I'm not sure the Santana in this story would be much of a singer, lol.**

**Do I plan on writing more Quinntana one-shots and long fics? Sigh. Well, I definitely can't write one-shots, I really admire people who do because, obviously, being concise is not my thing. As for long fics, I have another one, half-finished, that does include Quinntana, but it's not necessarily all about them, and I'm not sure it would even be a happy ending, so I'd hesitate in posting it. And I'm thinking I'd want to maybe write something about Elliott and the rest of the kids when they grow up, but it's just an idea, nothing I'm sure I'll actually go through with.**

**And, about updating twice a week... well, it's definitely not something I can do right now, because I'm super busy. However, and this is a warning, the story is going to move into Part II sometime this month, and I do have some of that written already, so that might mean I can update twice a week for at least a couple of weeks or until I run out of material. But for now, I can only commit to the usual Sunday updates, because I don't want to let anybody down.**

**Well, I think/hope I've covered everything. Thanks so much for reading!**

* * *

When the phone rings at night, after the kids are asleep, she no longer expects it, maybe even wants it, to be Finn. They stay up talking until long hours of the night, and for the first time in her life, Quinn knows what is like to have something in common with someone beyond the mere trivialities she shared with her friends. They talk and think together, of things Quinn didn't even know it was possible to talk and think about, but she likes it. It's a welcome distraction, from her sleepless nights, she doesn't need to watch TV now, and almost always falls asleep to the sound of Santana's voice on the phone.

"Greatest fear?"

"Nothing."

"Oh, come on."

"There's this nagging fear in the back of my mind that maybe I'm not as smart as everybody thinks I am. Yours?"

"That I'll want the life other people have."

"Seriously? But yours is so perfect."

"That's exactly why I fear it."

"But to have it be your greatest fear, though?"

"Yup. Right up there with the apocalypse."

"Jesus, that's just as insane."

"You're seriously not afraid of the world ending?"

"You know, it's funny, because I think about all this awful stuff that's supposed to happen, like us becoming cannibals or the sun burning the earth, and then I realize I'm not gonna be here anymore when and if it does."

"That's kind of selfish of you."

"I know. I'm sorry? I guess? It's just weird, to imagine the world without me."

* * *

"What's one thing you don't like about it?"

"I like everything about it."

"No way. There has to be something you don't like. Think harder."

"I guess if I had to say something... I don't like that it's so transitory. Nothing you study is permanent. Life is always changing, and sometimes it's for the better, but not always."

"Like animals going extinct and stuff?"

"Yeah. It's not like... well, it's not like ballet, where you make a choreography and you can keep it forever, because you made it. Here I'm not making anything, I'm merely an observer, and there isn't much I can do about it's permanence on earth. It's very... melancholy."

"But Santana, dancing _is_ melancholy. You're creating something beautiful and then letting it go."

"What do you mean?"

"Like, when I dance, I know it's never going to be the same again, because I'm never going to be able to replicate the same steps, the same movements, at the same time, to the same notes of music. It's like losing something the second it's born. No matter how much I love what's going on, I know the moment it's done, it'll be gone forever."

Santana thinks back to that day, to that dance, and how unfair it is that for Quinn, it's gone forever, while for her, it plays over and over again, no move, no note, no sound forgotten.

* * *

The living room, dining room and kitchen of Santana's house are more than familiar to Quinn now, even if the rest of the house isn't. She likes the idea of going somewhere where no one knows every detail about her life since the age of three. But she finds anonymity just as frightening; it makes her doubt her already frail existence. Maybe she's only real inside Santana's house and not outside of it, where nobody knows or needs her.

"So, how come you guys never got married?"

"Full of questions, are you?"

"I'm sorry. Do you mind?"

"No. It's fine. Uh, I... marriage was never something I wanted to do."

"But... you are pretty much married. Except that you aren't."

"Yeah, but... it wasn't the way things were supposed to work out."

"What happened, then?"

"Jaeger."

"You mean he wasn't..."

"Planned? No. I never wanted to have children. I wasn't even going to have him."

She looks across the dining room table when she says this, frankly, so that it will be impossible for Quinn to miss the point. She doesn't know what she's expecting, maybe a lecture or a pro-life brochure, but Quinn just looks pained.

"I meant to have an abortion, but in the end I couldn't get the money together, and there was no way I was going to ask Sam, so..."

"You never thought about adoption?"

"Yeah, but once I had him... I don't know."

Quinn smiles in understanding. "There's nothing quite a little hand squeezing around your fingers, is there?"

Santana shrugs. "I don't know. I was too busy being amazed at the fact that there was a living, breathing human being in my arms, that my body had put together that combination of cells and molecules to function like that."

It's typical Santana, such a technical explanation for something that could only be described as miraculous, but touching in it's own way.

"But you don't regret having him?"

Santana shrugs. "I regret having to quit my job. And it's a curse he looks so much like his father."

"But, Santana, you didn't _have_ to quit your job."

"Look, when I knew for sure I was keeping him, I promised myself he'd have at least one parent who would be there for him always, and, evidently Sam wasn't going to do it. My profession is too demanding, it requires practically a full time commitment, and so does raising a son."

"But he's older now."

"I know. Which is why I'm even beginning to get into it again. Although I guess I was only going to be able to stay away for so long."

* * *

"You're late today."

"I'm sorry."

"Prior commitment?"

Quinn smiles, at Santana fishing. "It's Sunday, Santana. I was at church."

"Oh."

"I suppose you think that's stupid?"

"What?"

"Church."

"No."

"You don't?"

Santana laughs at the surprise in Quinn's voice. "You know, you people make a big deal about me judging you, but you didn't let me off the hook too easy either. I'm not some crazy atheist looking to convert you, Quinn."

"Wait, so you're actually-"

"Well, no, I don't believe in that stuff, but... we all have to do what we have to do to get by. And if that helps people..."

"It doesn't, much," Quinn mutters.

Santana shoots her a sideways glance, wondering how much it cost her, to admit that. "Then why do you do it?"

"Because... I don't know."

"I think you do. And I think if... if you're going to have to go anyway, you might as well try to find some sort of redemption in the whole thing."

"You're the last person I would have expected to say that."

Santana shrugs. "I'm a scientist. I try to find a practical use for things."

The next time Quinn goes to church, everything seems different.

* * *

"Every year that goes by I feel like I'm being awarded a medal for years of service. People like my mother will tell you that they've been married for so many years, like it's an accomplishment, but... it's been pretty easy for me."

Santana nods. "Of course. Finn is... the kind of man with whom I can imagine it being easy with."

"Isn't Sam?"

Santana considers this. "I imagine for some women he would be."

"Have you tried marriage counseling?"

Santana laughs, and it's unlike anything Quinn's ever heard before, surprised and bitter. She feels self-conscious all of sudden. "It's just... I always thought, if Finn and I had problems-"

"Maybe you and Finn have something worth saving."

* * *

"Why do people do that stupid thing?"

"What?"

"Get married. I don't get it. Don't they know there's a fifty percent chance their marriage will fail? What kind of odds are those? Why would anyone play anything on those odds?"

"Because people want to believe in love, Santana. No one wants to believe that will be them."

"But you understand how, from logical point of view, it doesn't make any sense?"

Quinn sighs. "Yes. But isn't it much worse to think you're going to spend the rest of your life without love?"

"Quinn, the fact that you're not in a relationship doesn't mean you're going to want for love. How could you, when there are so many other kinds?"

"But this is the one everyone talks about, the one every one pursues... you've got to wonder sometimes, if you're not missing out."

"You know, for years I asked myself how I could survive, thrive, even, without that thing everybody seemed to be chasing so desperately. And then one day, when Jaeger was a toddler, we were watching the Winter Olympics and pretending to be a figure skating couple. I was lifting him high into the air and I realized I was in love. I knew what it was, I didn't need stupid songs telling me, because it wasn't anything like they said it was. It was as if I'd lived my whole life in that instant and missed out on nothing. Not the Eiffel tower, or riding an elephant or skydiving, because they were all there, rolled into that twenty seconds when I lifted Jaeger into the air and spun."

Hearing Santana talk about her son makes Quinn respect her more than anything else, because hard as she might try, she doesn't think she would ever be capable of fathoming such a love out of thin air. She wonders if there's a secret to it, to being able to love so much, because if there is, it's something no one ever taught her. She says as much, but Santana just shrugs.

"It's not really me, it's all him. Sometimes I feel like Jaeger is erasing my childhood."

"Huh?"

"Like, I'll remember something nice, that happened to me as a kid, and then I'll realize it didn't really happen to me, it happened to Jaeger. Slowly, I'm beginning to forget details about my own childhood, and replacing them with memories of his."

"Is that good?"

"Of course. His are happy."

"And yours aren't?"

Santana mulls this over. "There's some I wouldn't trade for the world."

"And others..."

"Others I already traded in, long time ago."

* * *

Quinn takes the kids to a playdate that afternoon, and for the first time ever, doesn't stay.

The microscope has settled on the coffee table of Santana's living room for good, at least while Sam is away. They spend much time looking through it together, and Quinn never knew something as huge as life could be explained in such minute detail. They stay up all night, Santana explaining how a feather is just like the wings of a butterfly.

She shows her her sketchbooks, and Quinn doesn't know this, but it's something she's never even shown Jaeger.

She sighs. "You draw so beautifully."

"I worked on this in 1998. And this one when I was pregnant with Jaeger. It was my last one."

There are a number of things, from cells to animals to plants. Looking through her notebooks is like looking through a journal, more so when she explains them, and Quinn wonders about the content of Elliott's own for the first time since she found out about them.

They don't know when they fall asleep, only that Quinn is on the couch, Santana on the carpet. Then sound of screaming startles Santana awake and she gets up like lightning, even though it's been years since she last woke up to these sorts of yells. Quinn's tossing and turning, eyes shut tightly, saying things Santana can't understand and kicking and screaming in a way Santana is afraid will make her hurt herself. She quickly gets on the couch and tries to restrain her, which is a struggle even though Quinn's so small. Finally, she fixes her arms around her waist and pulls Quinn to her. This seems to do the trick, and Quinn turns around and buries her face in her shoulder.

"Finn."

"Quinn. It's me. Santana."

The words wake her like a splash of cold water, and she jumps off Santana's lap immediately.

"I... I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I-"

But Santana is looking at her curiously. "That happen to you a lot?"

"I... yes. No. I mean, I should go."

She grabs her stuff and runs out the door before Santana can do anything else, even think of chasing her.

* * *

When she wakes up the next day, Finn is already in bed next to her. She sighs on relief, but she's also upset; that hadn't happened in a long time. Maybe it's the fact that she's been doing almost no sleeping lately, but now that Finn's back, everything should go back to normal.

He flips over on the bed and grabs her hand. "Morning."

"Morning. What time did you get in last night?"

"Not too late. Like eleven. You were asleep already."

"Yeah, I... I don't know how that happened. I'm sorry, I should have cooked you something-"

"That's fine. Willow gave me some bread and butter."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"That's gross, Finn."

He laughs. "It wasn't that bad. Gave me a chance to talk to her, actually."

"And?"

"There's something she wants to talk to us about."


End file.
